


Memory Lane

by EllanaSan



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Memory Loss, post- MJ, some steam in later chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-03-28 20:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 48,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3868498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after the war, Haymitch feels they have earned their peaceful life in Twelve. That is until Plutarch comes barging back into his life with news of a terrorist group, Effie Trinket in tow. Now, as always when Effie is involved, everything gets complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone ! And we are with a brand new hayffie story ! There are thirteen chapters in all and it should be updated on every Sunday.
> 
> Thanks for Akachankami for the beta-reading!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this first chapter!

The humming of the hovercraft’s engine was barely audible. Her ears couldn’t quite pick it up, she could only say it was there because of the small, almost undetectable, vibration under her feet. She had to focus to feel it.

It meant the silence was total.

From the moment the hovercraft had taken off in the Capitol, neither she nor her traveling companion had opened their mouth.

She had been tempted to break the silence at some point, fill it with pointless chatter until it died. She feared stillness for some reason. She had remained mute because she wasn’t sure what to talk about. She thought she might also fear empty small-talk.

Her eyes fell on the red suitcase next to her right knee. She had insisted on her luggage staying with her, feeling the need to keep her meager possessions close. The case was well-worn, the red a little faded. She brushed her hand against the traveling tag hanging from the handle on top. _Effie Trinket_. She retraced the elegant cursives with her thumb, caressing the name.

“We’re here.”

She startled and looked up at her traveling companion, not without some mistrust. He was a plump man, elegant both in the way he dressed, talked and interacted with people but also in the way he moved, as if everything he did was going to be observed and analyzed. _A showman_ , she would have concluded if it weren’t for the businessman attitude he often displayed. The wispy white – or maybe pale blond – hair was carefully arranged on top of his head but couldn’t quite hide the fact he would start going bald in a few years.

 _He should wear a wig instead of trying to hide it_ , she thought.

“Miss Trinket?” the man insisted, offering her his arm.

Her distraction had been enough for the hovercraft to land without her notice, it seemed. She glanced through the window to find a meadow – or she _thought_ it was a meadow, the grass was withered or maybe brand new, she didn’t know.

She stood up carefully, immediately closing her eyes against the vertigo. Her head was spinning but she soldiered on, grabbed her suitcase and reached for the man’s arm. He was looking at her with something akin to sympathy but she simply figured – and not for the first time since he had showed up in her hospital room the day before – that he was simply impatient to get rid of her.

She wanted to let go of the suitcase and press a hand against her head – to steady it or touch the gauze on her brow to make sure it wasn’t all a dream, she wasn’t sure – but he didn’t give her time to do it. He was already steering her towards the hovercraft exit.

“You will be able to rest in a very short moment, Miss.” he said. “I assure you, you will be quite safe, here.”

She had no other choice but to trust him so she simply nodded, mindful not to move her head too much, and forced a bright smile on her lips. That part was easy – the smiles came easily, as if she was used to pretend being happy.

After a whole day spent in a hospital room and a three hours long trip by hovercraft, the natural light of the autumn sun was blinding. She paused at the top of the exit ramp and let go of the man long enough to shield her eyes.

“Plutarch!” a gruff voice barked, almost making her jump again.

The voice belonged to a man who was clearly not pleased. She tut-tutted quietly at the state he was in : brown pants frayed and stained at the knees, a grey coat that had clearly seen better days, a tangled heap of dirty blond hair that had obviously been cut haphazardly around his chin, the thing covering half his face was a hybrid between a beard and stubble as if he had changed his mind halfway through shaving. The grey eyes, though, were bright and very much lively.

“Don’t start shouting just yet, Haymitch.” Plutarch retorted, nudging Effie down the exit ramp of the hovercraft.

“Effie!” a younger man cried in delight.

She had barely put a foot back down on real solid ground that she was engulfed in a warm embrace. The young man had broad-shoulders, very defined muscles, tousled blond hair, a laughing smile and bright blue eyes. He seemed very pleased to see her – or at least she _thought_ he was pleased to see her and not actively trying to suffocate her.

“You’re holding her too tight.” a young woman grumbled, tapping on the man’s shoulder.

He released her with an apologizing smile but she didn’t have time to ponder the thought. The young woman – grey eyes, an expression between a scowl and a sulk on her face, and a neat braid of dark hair falling on her shoulder – pulled her into a hug of her own. She smelled like pines and grand natural open space. It brought tears to Effie’s eyes but she couldn’t have said why.

“You’re hurt.” the young woman frowned when she finally let go. Her fingers reached for the white dressing on her forehead but dropped halfway there.

“Nothing serious.” Effie offered, sounding a lot more reassuring than she felt.

“Are you sure?” the young man insisted. “Plutarch said you were hit by a car. He didn’t say you were _hurt_ though.”

“I’m surprised the wig didn’t cushion the fall.” Haymitch snorted.

“Wigs aren’t in fashion anymore.” she countered before she could think better of it. She glanced at Plutarch, uncertain, and he nodded discreetly.

“Too bad for you.” Haymitch scorned.

“Haymitch.” the youngest man said – she wanted to call him a _boy_ but it made no sense – and there was a clear warning in his voice.

“Yeah.” Haymitch rolled his eyes. “You’re staying with me, sweetheart. If you have a problem with that, you can hop back up in that hovercraft and deal with your own mess.”

The very idea of flying back to the Capitol sent her heart racing in her chest. Yet, she couldn’t impose.

“If my presence is inconvenient…” she ventured, looking at Plutarch in dismay. He had _sworn_ she would have a place to stay in Twelve and if that wasn’t true…

“Don’t be ridiculous.” the young woman snapped. “And don’t mind Haymitch, you know how he is.”

“Do I?” she whispered but she was ignored.

Clearly, Haymitch was displeased with the whole arrangement. He rounded on Plutarch with narrowed eyes and jutted an accusatory finger in his chest. “ _Explain_. You were more than fishy on the phone. You said it wasn’t really an accident.”

Plutarch looked distinctly uncomfortable. “You accepted to take her in the time necessary to…”

“She’s part of our team. She can stay, that’s not the problem.” Haymitch cut in, waving her safety away with such carelessness Effie couldn’t help but bite her bottom lip in concern. Haymitch went on, either not caring at how heartless he sounded or not caring about her feelings. “You said she wasn’t the first one and the others were dead.”

She was glad for the protective arm the younger man wrapped around her shoulders. He, at least, seemed concerned about her well-being. The young woman looked stricken too.

“You never told us that!” she gasped.

“Because I don’t have all the facts.” Haymitch grumbled, glaring at Plutarch. “ _Spill_.”

Plutarch sighed and folded his arms in front of his chest. “You already know some former escorts and Gamemakers escaped the Purge, like me and Miss Trinket.”

“Nobody was going to put _you_ on trial.” the younger woman snorted, as if it was the best joke.

Plutarch nodded at her with a conniving smile. “ _Quite_. Others escaped Coin’s Purge, be it through connections, money or because they had done things for the rebels at some point. There were four escorts left last year, Miss Trinket is the last one alive today. Two former stylists who worked for the Games were found dead and there was the small matter of the gas leak at the Presidential Mansion. It all looks like a series of accidents.”

“But it’s not.” Haymitch declared, looking resigned. “Who’s behind it?”

“A small group of Coin’s loyalists, we think.” Plutarch shrugged. “We have no real trail to speak of for now. We stopped their attempts at pirate broadcasting but couldn’t locate them. Beetee is working on it as we speak.”

A dark cloud had settled on the group at the mention of Coin.

Everything had been explained to Effie the day before, when she had woken up in her hospital room. She was lucky, they had said, it could have been much worse.

The young man’s arm fell off her shoulders and he reached for his girlfriend, entwining their fingers with a blank face.

“Are the kids in danger?” Haymitch hissed. “If they’re Coin’s loyalists…”

His grey eyes fell on the young woman and remained there long enough that Effie understood his real concern was for the girl.

“I don’t think they will go after victors for now.” Plutarch shook his head, holding his hand up in a reassuring gesture. “I’m fairly confident they don’t have the manpower. Everything points to a small group. They always chose easy targets. Nevertheless, Johanna is already in Four with Annie and I sent a small protection unit there this morning. I extended the same courtesy to Enobaria but she refused our help. As for you three…”

“We don’t need any strangers.” the young woman was quick to argue. “We can look after ourselves.”

Effie watched as the three of them exchanged _a look_ for the next several seconds. They seemed to be having a silent conversation of sort.

“I wouldn’t send _strangers_ , Katniss.” Plutarch rebuked the young woman gently. “Give me some credits. I will handpick the team myself.”

 _Katniss_ …

Effie’s headache was quickly getting worse and she shuffled on her feet, hoping to relieve the pressure building behind her eyes.

“We will take the team.” Haymitch said. Katniss started protesting loudly but he waved it away with a scowl. “Suck it up, sweetheart, it’s not up for debate.” He turned to Plutarch. “Victors’ Village is full of empty houses, they can stay in one of them but make sure they know who they answer to.”

Plutarch nodded his assent.

“What about you?” Katniss asked with a scowl of her own. She obviously wasn’t pleased at Haymitch’s decision, Effie surmised. “Aren’t you in danger too?”

“I have my bodyguards.” Plutarch smiled, gesturing at the men in dark suits who had remained in the shadow of the hovercraft. “I’m too big a target.” His amusement died quickly and he became serious once more as he turned to Haymitch. “I assure you I am certain they won’t go after victors, that’s why I wanted to leave Miss Trinket with you but if you think it’s too big a risk…”

“She’s staying.” Haymitch spat, glancing at her.

His eyes roamed from the bottom of her shoes to the top of her head and she couldn’t help a blush, a bit too conscious of what she looked like. The suitcase Plutarch had brought to the hospital contained neatly folded clothes and toilet products, she had chosen a dress at random, too out of sort to care at the time. The dress was yellow and too thin for Twelve, she would have been shivering if she hadn’t been so utterly exhausted. As for her hair, she had tried to brush it but she was sure it looked like a bird nest of unruly curls.  

“What about the driver?” the young man asked. “Didn’t you catch him?”

“The driver?” Plutarch frowned. Then he lifted his eyebrows in sudden comprehension. “Oh, the driver wasn’t trying to kill her. According to witnesses, Miss Trinket jumped in the middle of the road.”

There was more than a single gasp at that announcement.

“It’s not a performance I shall repeat anytime soon.” she joked.

“The Capitol is under camera surveillance…” Haymitch said.

“She was chased by two men, that much was clear. They were wearing hoods. No identification is possible.” Plutarch shrugged.

Haymitch sighed and looked at her again, with a smirk this time. The smirk was an improvement, she decided. She liked the smirk.

“So you’re being tailed and the first thing you do is jump in front of a car?” he chuckled. “You’ve got a death wish, Princess?”

“Don’t call me Princess.” The rebuke was instinctive and made her pause.

“Glad to see some things never change.” he scoffed, the smirk only growing deeper. “Still an uptight bitch, I see.”

She stepped back at the insult, pursing her lips in distaste.

“Haymitch!” Katniss hissed.

“You, mister, are _rude_.” she declared. And she was to _stay_ with this man? She turned to Plutarch. “I don’t think this is going to work. I should go back home. I should…”

“Miss Trinket…” the man sighed. “I already explained…”

“But… But…” she stammered. “The doctors said a familiar environment…” Her head was ready to burst and she grasped the handle of her suitcase with both hands. “I really do _not_ think this is a suitable solution. Obviously, there has been some mistake and…”

She only stopped when a hand grabbed her wrist, not tightly enough to hurt but firmly enough to steady her. She hadn’t seen Haymitch move. Then again, her sight was cluttered by dark moving dots. Perhaps, she thought distractedly, she was about to faint. She supposed it was a common enough occurrence with people who suffered from a concussion. Never mind people with a concussion who had been abducted and moved to the other side of the country.

“Breathe, sweetheart.” Haymitch ordered.

She did.

And she only felt the better for it.

“What’s wrong with her?” Katniss asked Plutarch, suddenly cold and defensive.

It took several seconds for Effie to realize the young woman was angry on her behalf.

“Ah, yes… I might have omitted a small detail…” Plutarch cringed, clearly uncomfortable. “You see, she hit her head quite hard and…”

“How much do you remember?” Haymitch asked her, without leaving room for the man to finish.

Was she that obvious?, she wondered.

“How… How do you know?” she stuttered, completely out of sort now.

She didn’t know who those people were, she barely knew where she was and the only thing she knew with any certainty was her name – and then again, she only knew for sure because it was written on a traveling tag in what might or might not be her handwriting.

“Well, you didn’t slap me, for starters.” he snorted but there was no amusement in his voice. His grey eyes were cold when he glanced at Plutarch. “There’s always another shoe with you.”

“I think we should take Effie home.” the younger man cut in, taking her suitcase away from her hands. It was a kind gesture but it made her distraught both because it was the only thing she knew for certain belonged to her and because she was using it to keep herself upright. She didn’t fall though, even with her really shaky legs and the pounding in her head. She couldn’t, Haymitch was keeping a solid grip on her.

“Katniss.” he called.

Effie tried not to mind when the younger woman took his place.

“Lean on me.” Katniss whispered.

Effie wouldn’t have been able to do anything but. Katniss looked frail, skinny even, but she was surprisingly strong, each of her steps was sure, her hands were confident when they guided Effie away from the odd meadow they had landed on.

Haymitch stayed behind and their retreat wasn’t quick enough for her not to hear the exchange between him and Plutarch.

“You’re sure they won’t come after her here?” Haymitch asked.

“They’re moving their way up to more glorious targets.” Plutarch replied. “A lot happened in the last two years. She works as a secretary for one of my friends, she lives in a single bedroom apartment in an unfashionable part of town, she wears _prêt-à-porter_ … There’s nothing glorious about Effie Trinket anymore.”

“Don’t mind him.” Katniss declared, guiding her further down the path leading to a small town. “You’re glorious enough for us.”

“There never was anyone more glorious.” the young man added cheerfully.

It was a very silly statement but it made her feel better nonetheless.

“My apologies…” she said, looking the young man over. She very obviously knew him and yet…

“Peeta.” the young man offered with a kind smile.

_Peeta…_

_Bread…_

The connection made no sense and she let it slide, glancing back over her shoulder in worry. The meadow was far behind now and the roads in town were uneven, full of potholes. People looked at them when they passed by but only for a second or so, they didn’t seem to care.

“I hate to impose.” Effie started again. “I might very well put you all in danger and your friend obviously…”

“Haymitch is very happy to see you.” Peeta chuckled, lifting her suitcase so it wouldn’t roll in a puddle of mud. “Don’t let the grumpy face fool you. He’s been frantic ever since Plutarch called.”

“He even forgot to drink himself into a stupor.” Katniss snorted. She squeezed Effie’s hand.

“You’re not imposing, Effie.” Peeta insisted. “You’re family.”

“Family…” she repeated. She might vaguely look alike the young man but that was it.

“Not by blood.” Katniss corrected. “But none of us has any blood relatives left anyway. Doesn’t count.”

“It doesn’t.” Peeta nodded, and, just like that, the matter was dropped.

By the time they reached the slope leading to the Victors’ Village, she felt strong enough to walk by herself. Katniss never wandered far anyway, ready to catch her if she stumbled.

The Village looked gloomy even with the pale sun shining overhead. It was enclosed by high metal gates that gleamed in the autumn light, houses were identical and only a handful of them looked to be lived-in. There was an imposing fountain in the middle but the marble was crumbling and the water seemed to be stagnant. Leaves were floating on the surface, carried away by the wind.

“I’ve been here before.” she whispered as they guided her towards the very end of the village, in a part clearly deserted by everyone.

“Yes.” Peeta flashed her a smile. “See, you will get your memory back in no time at all. You’re lucky, I have some experience with that.”

He winked at Katniss who rolled her eyes but didn’t comment.

“What _is_ that racket?” she asked, as they neared a house that looked just as abandoned as the others. Honking and quacking… Some poultry, perhaps.

“Geese. Haymitch’s latest project.” Katniss sighed. “And it’s _a pain_. Noise day and night, better get used to it.”

“Sorry about the state of the house.” Peeta apologized, pushing the front door open and carrying her case inside. “We did what we could but it was short-noticed. I made sure the guestroom was clean.”

On her way upstairs, Effie barely glimpsed more than the hall and the living-room and, yet, she wondered if it was a house or a dumpster. Bottles on every available surface, trash on the floor, a heavy coat of dust on every piece of furniture…

Katniss looked unapologetic as she led her to the guestroom. It was slightly less dirty than the rest of the house, Effie admitted. Peeta left her suitcase next to the bed and wiped his hands on his pants.

“Bathroom is on the other side of the corridor.” he told her. “It shouldn’t be too bad, Haymitch usually uses the one en-suited in the master bedroom. I can try to clean it a bit if you…”

“No, no, don’t trouble yourself on my account.” she rushed to reassure him. “You did more than enough, I assure you.”

“You should rest.” Katniss abruptly declared. “We will see you later.”

The young woman didn’t leave Peeta much choice but to follow as she grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the room.

“And don’t worry! You’re safe here!” the boy added before disappearing down the stairs.

It was just as well, she thought, as she heard the turbulent young people slamming the door on their way out. She was… _overwhelmed_.

Nothing was familiar in the room.

The hazy idea that she had been in the Village before had completely disappeared before she could put her finger on the memory.

She was in a strange place, alone, and she was a foreigner to her own self.

She was allowed to be overwhelmed, she told herself, and yet dwelling on it wouldn’t help. She took a deep breath before the tears could start falling freely down her cheeks, and explored her new surroundings.

The bedroom was cleaner than the rest of the house but not by much. The dusting was very superficial and hasty. There was next to none decoration or personal touch : a double bed with a pale blue cover, two nightstands, a dark wood dresser facing the bed and a wardrobe against the wall, not far from the door. On the opposite wall there was a window.

She caught her reflection in the golden-framed mirror hanging over the dresser and she sighed in dismay at her own appearance. She supposed she ought to change the dressing on her wound, the doctor had warned her about keeping the stitches clean. She wondered if it would leave a scar. It certainly wouldn’t be the first, there were scars all over her body. She wasn’t sure she minded terribly not remembering how she had gotten them in the first place.

She made her way to the window and opened it with some difficulties. There were no blinds, she would need curtains…

She passed her head through the open window, trying to get a sense of her surroundings. The geese were still honking on the other side of the house, out of sight, and the streets of the Village looked deserted.

“Not sure leaning out of a window when you have a concussion is really safe, sweetheart.”

She knocked her head on the upper side of the window.

“ _Ouch_.” She rubbed her pounding head and glared at him. “You scared me.”

“Maybe being hit by a car _did_ knock some sense into you then.” Haymitch chuckled.

There was no real amusement in his voice though and the way he was looking at her was more worried than mocking. It was such a discrepancy with the way he had treated her ever since she had gotten off that hovercraft…

“We must be very close friends for you to host me at such a short notice and in such circumstances but your behavior…” she frowned.

He remained silent for a while, staring at her with such intensity she was starting to feel ill-at-ease.

“You weren’t very impressed with me last time we talked.” he said at last. “You kicked me out the door.”

“Why?” she asked.

She certainly must have had a reason. She didn’t feel like an irrational person, she thought she must be a very sensible one.

“Long story, sweetheart.” he smirked. There was an edge to it, something bitter in the corner of his mouth, that convinced her that particular explanation could wait.

“Do I usually allow you to call me pet names?” She folded her arms over her chest, confident she didn’t.

He leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms too. “Yes.”

“Liar.” she accused.

“How would you know?” he challenged.

“I do.” she retorted.

They stared at each other for a few seconds until Effie couldn’t quite take it anymore and opened her suitcase, intending to put her things away. The project was short-lived, however – when she opened the drawers, dust rose in clouds, making her cough. She closed it again very quickly.

“To the risk of being rude…” She cleared her throat, not without sarcasm. “Would you mind if I did some cleaning while I am here?”

His laugh was rough. He looked surprised at himself, as if he had forgotten he _could_ laugh.

“Not here for five minutes, you already want to take over the house and boss me around.” he scoffed. “You’re _sure_ you lost your memories?”

“I lost my memories, not my personality.” she snapped back. “And I will _not_ live in a pigsty. I don’t think you should either. I’m doing you a favor.”

“Whatever, Princess.” he shrugged. “Just don’t touch my booze.”

 _Booze_.

She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

It didn’t bear well.


	2. Chapter 2

“I hope you _do_ know it isn’t proper to leave the cleaning to your guests.” Effie grumbled as she nudged his legs aside with her vacuum cleaner – he didn’t know where she had found it, he didn’t even know he _owned_ a vacuum cleaner. “Never mind your _still concussed_ guests.”

Haymitch put his feet on the coffee table to leave her more room and glared at her. “Is it proper to tell me my house is dirty?”

“Probably not but you were adamant you don’t care about propriety.” she snapped, glaring right back.

For a second, he was taken back in time, years earlier, when she nagged at him about whatever stupid thing he had done in front of potential sponsors.

She looked a lot better than she had the day before, when she had gotten out of that hovercraft. Her hair was pinned up in a complicated bun, the dressing on her forehead had been changed to something a little more inconspicuous, she was wearing make-up – although it _did_ look more natural than what she used to wear – and a pink dress. She had fallen asleep before Peeta brought dinner the previous night and had remained that way up until late that morning – he, on the other hand, had _not_ slept, convinced she was in a coma and would die if he closed his eyes. She had tip-toed around him all morning and had only brightened up when the kids had showed up with cleaning products. _Traitors_.

She had been keeping busy ever since by vacuuming and dusting and scrubbing the floors… She had forced him to help, of course, because, amnesiac or not, she _was_ Effie Trinket and she had a gift for making him do things he absolutely didn’t want to do.

He had given up when she had attacked the living-room.

He thought people with a concussion were supposed to be tired and recovering not… a tornado of pink fabric and blond curls.

It was odd, he mused, how like the old Effie she was. The Effie from before the war… The one who always stood tall and was never scared of anything… After the war, after her months in prison… She used to flinch when people brushed past her, he had found her more than once huddled against a wall in her hospital room and she had been… _empty_.

It was good to see her so lively again.

It was also good not to see the resentment and the hatred in her eyes when she looked at him.

“Your manners are appalling.” she informed him for the tenth time that day.

He brought the bottle of liquor to his lips to hide his smirk – it wouldn’t do to let her know how much he had missed that kind of comments.

She threw a dark look at his bottle but kept her opinion to herself on the matter – apparently, she didn’t feel it was her place to lecture him on his drinking habits but he had heard her ask the boy about it earlier, about his _addiction_ as she had put it. Katniss thought it was hilarious she had forgotten about _that_.

He glanced around the living-room, unable to believe how different the room looked already. One hour. It was all the time she had needed to tidy everything up and make it look less as if he was living in a dumpster. He didn’t mind. _Much_. Yes, she was reorganizing his whole living arrangement but at least it was keeping her busy and keeping her busy was easier than answering awkward questions.

He didn’t want to explain why they had been on such bad terms before her accident.

“Haymitch?” she hummed, over the noise of the vacuum.

“Yeah?” he replied distractedly. He needed to call Jo, he thought, make sure everything was alright in Four. He wasn’t sure he trusted Plutarch’s analyses of the situation. Katniss and Peeta would be careful, he knew, they would stick together and not go anywhere without a weapon readily available. But Jo and Annie had little Finn to worry about… There were enough houses in the village for everyone, he figured, perhaps it would be safer to…

“What happened to Peeta’s leg?” she asked. “I didn’t want to ask him directly in case it brought back bad memories, you know. But I _did_ notice when he bent down to pick up the bucket and I was wondering…”

He muted the rest of her chatter. She did that a lot: _chatting_. Her high-pitched voice filled the silence of his house and became a sort of background noise.

It was better than her muteness after the war.  

“The Games.” he spat.

She froze and looked back at him. “The Games?”

“Hunger Games.” he clarified. “Don’t tell me you forgot about that because…”

He didn’t want to recall. He didn’t want to…

“No, I remember. I think…” she frowned. “They lasted for seventy-five years and then the rebellion…” She closed her eyes for a second and frowned only to wince in pain and reach for the huge white band-aid on her forehead. “My history is good, I think. But the details are… fuzzy. Peeta was in the Games, you say?”

“We were all in the Games, sweetheart.” he corrected with a scowl. He took a swing of liquor to wash away those words. He knew Katniss had her pet project with her writing about dead people but Haymitch saw enough dead people in his nightmares as it was, he didn’t like thinking about the Games if he didn’t have to.

“No… No, certainly not.” A small sort of breathless laugh escaped her. “I wouldn’t have forgotten _that_. I wasn’t… I’m from the Capitol! They told me so.”

“Escort. You were an escort.” he corrected her, leaning over the armrest to switch the vacuum cleaner off.

“The escort draws out the names.” she whispered. “I…”  

She was awfully pale all of a sudden.

He let out a curse. “Sit down before you fall.”

He half-expected her to drop beside him on the couch but he should have known better. She sat down gracefully albeit a bit unsteadily.

“I don’t remember.” She swallowed hard, her eyes glassy and unfocused. “I don’t remember a thing.”

“Lucky you.” he spat.

He didn’t know how much he would have given to have his memories erased. A clean slate. A fresh start. No more nightmares, no more pain…

“No wonder people tried to kill me.” she said.

Of course, on the bright side, no one was actively trying to kill _him_ anymore, nightmares or not.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that, sweetheart.” he amended, taking a mouthful of liquor if only to clear his mind. Talking about the Games unsettled him. He almost offered her the bottle and then he thought better of it. He knew from personal experience that alcohol and concussions didn’t mix well together. “I thought Plutarch explained.”

Although he had never quite trusted Plutarch further than he could throw him. His whole story about a group of Coin’s loyalists was a little hard to swallow. If he was to be believed they had _murdered_ people but Haymitch shouldn’t worry too much because the government was _trying_ to catch them. Haymitch wasn’t the kind of man who blindly trusted his government.

All the more so when _his kids_ were concerned.

He had told Peeta not to leave Katniss alone but he knew it would be a difficult mission. Katniss needed her solitude just as much as he did. She was just starting to get better… If they cut out her time alone in the woods and tried to monitor her days and nights… And it was only _Katniss_. Katniss could take care of herself, she was a warrior, a survivor… Even after her sister’s death… She would go to all kind of lengths for Peeta and, although he was loose to admit it, for _him_. But Peeta… He wasn’t sure Peeta could defend himself. He would kill for Katniss but would he kill for himself? And there was Effie to consider too.

Plutarch could claim they were safe all he wanted, Haymitch _never_ felt safe.

He thought again about calling Jo, making them come to Twelve… Johanna had been through enough though and he hated the thought of asking her to put her life on the line again. Never mind Annie’s…

“He did.” she answered at last. “But I was confused and everything was fuzzy. I’m not sure I understood half of it. I thought that the fact people were trying to kill me covered the point quite thoroughly.”

“Focusing on yourself instead of the bigger picture.” he snorted. “Just like you.”  

“Is it?” She flashed him a smile but it was hollow. “Am I as selfish as you say?”

It was a difficult question. Was she selfish? Yes. Sometimes. But he had also known her to be so selfless at others…

She was a complex person under the persona of the perfect bubbly dumb escort. She had been his partner for thirteen years in the Games and he taxed himself of knowing her well enough but he also always knew he had barely scratched the surface of who she really was. She was a reflection on a puddle of water : misleading.

She must have interpreted his lack of answer as a confirmation because she looked down and stared at the newly cleaned floorboards.

“How can we be friends, Haymitch?” she asked and it was barely a whisper. “Plutarch said he was taking me to _friends_ , and Katniss and Peeta said I was family but if I was your escort, how can you be my friends?”

“I am. Always was. A _shitty_ friend too.” he shrugged. “Don’t tell anyone I said that because I will deny it to my dying day, sweetheart, but you’re not that bad.”

She was the only one who had never given up on him.

Katniss had given up in Thirteen. Peeta well before that. Plutarch, Beetee, Johanna… Even Finnick and Chaff… They had all been expecting him to crack and break at some point or other but Effie… Even after the war, even after everything, even after she had kicked his ass out of her life… He knew it wasn’t because she had written him off as a lost cause but because she was furious with him. It was different. Or maybe it was just in his head.

“ _Language_.” she sniffed, her eyes suspiciously shiny. If there were tears, she had the good sense to blink them away. “I am sure you were a good friend. I wish I could remember you.”

“ _You_ were the good friend, Trinket.” he insisted. He didn’t want her to get any idea. He sucked at being a friend, he sucked at being whatever he was to Peeta and Katniss and he certainly sucked at being whatever he had been to her in the past. “And don’t get into your head that you’re a bad person because you were an escort. The kids love you and they’re selective. We fought to keep you alive, we don’t fight for everyone.”

Well… _He_ had fought but he was sure the kids would have too if they had been a little more aware of what was happening beyond the door of their respective hospital room.

There were definitely tears in her eyes now.

He wasn’t expecting the attack but he should have been. Effie always was a demonstrative person – except she wasn’t anymore, not after the war, and he had problems reconciling the two in his mind – so it wasn’t exactly a surprise when she threw her arms around his neck and squeezed. His first instinct was to save the bottle of liquor propped against the cushions, liquor wasn’t exactly easy to find since Ripper’s death and his homemade moonshine was awful and saved for last resort only. By the time he had placed the bottle in safety on the coffee table, she had tensed, misinterpreting his lack of response.

“We don’t hug, am I wrong?” she whispered, obviously embarrassed.

He embraced her back before she could move away. Perhaps she wasn’t all that selfish but _he_ was. Very, _very_ selfish. And it had been entirely too long since he had hold her – or anyone, really – in his arms. The Quell, he thought. She wouldn’t let him after she was rescued. She was too angry, too… He buried his face in her neck. Her smell was slightly different from what he remembered, different mark of make-up and perfume, but underneath… Underneath she still smelt like _Effie_.

It was both a blessing and a curse. It sent his mind spiraling to the past… To Reaping mornings he had woken up drenched to find her standing right in front of him – although far enough the knife couldn’t touch her – an empty jug in her hand… To nights in the penthouse when she had helped him to his bed after he had passed out yet again in some improbable location… To days spent side by side, not by choice but because she had kidnapped his liquor or found another way to blackmail him into helping her find sponsors, sharing resigned glances and knowing that they were going to lose yet again… To evenings they never talked about, sitting close on the couch, close enough to touch even though they never did, watching their tributes die on the screen…

“I don’t hug.” he replied at last. “You hug a lot.”

“Oh…” she breathed out, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Alright.”

She didn’t let go and he didn’t either.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had held him like that. The girl probably… It was odd how he was always weary of human touch but was starving for it at the same time. He trusted Effie, though. He trusted her completely. She would never hurt him, not physically at least.

It occurred to him the hug was lasting too long for a friendly embrace yet he still couldn’t bring himself to let go. He had been waiting for that ever since he had seen her on her hospital bed after the rebellion was won.

“You seem to enjoy it an awful lot for someone who doesn’t hug, Haymitch.” she teased. “Perhaps you should hug more often.”

He chuckled – and had the startling realization that he had chuckled and laughed more in the last twenty-four hours than in the last two years – and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. Her sharp intake of breath was rewarding. He made no attempt to curb the teasing smirk on his lips when he finally drew back and gave her back her freedom.

“Tell you what…” he winked at her. “Maybe I should.”

She cleared her throat, flustered but pleased, and hopped back to her feet as if nothing had happened at all. In a matter of seconds, the vacuum cleaner was switched on again and she was back at making his house a little more welcoming.

How he ended up helping again, he didn’t know.

Maybe he liked watching her chatting happily a little too much.

He couldn’t help it though. It was such a sharp contrast with the woman she had become after…

It took all day and the help of the kids – who probably rued the moment they had decided to visit his house – but by nightfall the house was not only spotless but actually… _homey_. Effie was beaming with contentment at a job well-done and very much trying not to fall face-first in her bowl of soup.

“You’re amazing.” Peeta commented, over his own soup. “Seriously, Effie, you work miracles.”

Katniss and Haymitch exchanged a glance over the tablecloth – _tablecloth,_ he didn’t even know he owned that either – sharing a commiserating thought for whatever the following day would bring. Peeta, once brought on board of cleaning the whole house, had proved to be a very efficient second-in-command to Effie, ordering Haymitch and Katniss around like puppets, making sure to give them easy tasks because he knew just _how much_ they both loved to clean.

He was half-afraid they would want to tackle the peeling paint the following day.

“Oh, it was a team effort.” she protested, refusing to take the whole credit.

Haymitch looked around the kitchen, glimpsed the gleaming pans and pristine counters, the spotless floor, the neatly organized cupboards and couldn’t help but think it would never have happened if she hadn’t been there in the first place. He couldn’t even bring himself to be annoyed about it, even if they had argued for half an hour about the proper place to keep bottles of alcohol and why he shouldn’t leave them uncorked to gather dust if he planned on finishing them later – she was adamant it was _unsanitary_.

“You always were the team captain.” Katniss shrugged, dropping the spoon to bring the bowl directly to her mouth.

Effie’s lips pursed in disapproval which amused Haymitch to no end. It figured, he thought, that the only thing an amnesiac Effie would remember was her manners. She kept clicking the side of the spoon on the inside of her bowl to make sure it wasn’t too full and she wouldn’t accidentally spill anything.

“Excuse me, sweetheart, but _I_ ’m the team captain here.” he snorted. “Mentor tramples escort.”

Katniss paused briefly at the open mention of the Games but resumed drinking her soup without batting an eyelash.

“Not when _you_ ’re the mentor.” the girl argued.

“I’m with Katniss.” Peeta nodded.

“When _aren’t_ you?” Haymitch grumbled. “I’m outnumbered. This is unfair.”

“You are not outnumbered anymore, are you?” Effie hummed quietly, keeping her eyes on her spoon. “I am here now.”

“Yeah…” Katniss laughed. “Wait until you get your memories back, Effie. You two never agree on anything.”

“It makes it a lot more interesting, doesn’t it?” she replied with a teasing smile in his direction. Her blue eyes were sparkling in amusement.

An open challenge.

Haymitch lifted his eyebrows in mocked shock.

They stared at each other over the dinner table and he could have sworn the world briefly faded away.

He was vaguely aware the kids were exchanging a glance of their own, having the kind of silent conversation that always made him feel left out, like the third wheel he was.

“Oh, boy…” Peeta muttered, going back to eating his soup.

Dinner was a short affair after that. All of them were exhausted by far too much cleaning and, in Haymitch’s case, not enough alcohol.

He locked the doors after the kids and toured the house to make sure all the windows were safely closed. That wasn’t something he usually did but he needed the peace of mind that no one could easily enter the house without his notice – a good thing he did too because the window in the study had been left open.

When he came back to the kitchen, Effie was just about done with the dishes, hiding a yawn behind her soapy hands between two plates.

“You don’t have to do that, you know.” he said. “You’re not the housekeeper.”

“I don’t mind.” She flashed him a smile over her shoulder and put the last plate on the side of the sink to dry. “I think I like order.”

She rinsed the sink to make sure there was no dish soap left and dried her hands on the clean towel.

“Understatement.” he muttered.

“Do we truly always argue about everything?” she asked, neatly folding the towel and placing it on the kitchen counter.

“‘Thought it made it more interesting, sweetheart?” he snorted.

She rolled her eyes and stretched. “I’m going to bed, I’m exhausted.”

“That’s what happens when you spend the day scrubbing years worth of dirt off a floor.” he retorted, unsympathetic. His own back was killing him. He opened the cupboard she had piled his liquor in and grabbed a bottle at random, intending to catch up on his drinking.

She pursed her lips at the sight of the bottle but didn’t say anything. Instead, she brushed past him and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you for your help.” she whispered.

He blinked, too disturbed by the kiss to think coherently. “Careful, Princess. If that’s what I get for mopping the floors, I might go ahead and flood the whole house.”

She giggled on her way out of the kitchen. “I meant for everything, Haymitch, not specifically the cleaning.”

He watched her disappear around the corner – in his head, the ghost of Chaff’s voice told him to stop staring at her ass and, as always, he replied in the privacy of his mind there was no shame in staring at her ass; it was a damn fine ass.

He wanted to get very drunk.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t on the table for that night.

Getting very drunk meant being vulnerable to attacks and he couldn’t let himself be taken aback. Effie seemed to be dealing very well with the fact people had tried to kill her – that or she was more focused on her memory loss, he didn’t know – but he wasn’t.

He toured the whole house once more before retreating to his bedroom and he was careful to leave the door open just in case. The paranoia was slowly creeping back into his life, the certainty that someone would try to hurt his family and he would be too slow to stop it… Yet, at the same time, it gave him a sense of purpose he had lost after the war. It was a sickening thought.

He didn’t swallow more than a quarter of the bottle. It was barely enough for him to entertain the idea of sleep. He eventually drifted off though, plummeting into the familiar nightmares of blood and death.

People screamed in his dreams, people _always_ screamed.

But the blood-curdling scream that made him sit upright in his bed flinging his knife left and right didn’t belong to his nightmarish creations.

He remained still for several seconds, panting heavily, trying to make out the real from the hell in his head. The house was silent and he had almost convinced himself it was his mind playing tricks when it came again.

That one was a yell of pure pain.

 _Effie_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffy, cliffy, I am such a meanie… ;) I hope you liked it ! Thank you so much for the awesome feedbacks on the first chapter please do let me know what you think about this one!


	3. Chapter 3

_Pain._

Her whole body was in agony.

Questions thrown at her.

Questions she couldn’t answer.

She didn’t know anything.

She didn’t know anything.

_Protect Peeta. Protect Peeta. Protect Peeta_.

The words kept echoing in her mind : _protect Peeta_ _at all cost._

“ _Effie_.”

Hands grabbed her.

She tried to struggle, tried to escape them, avoid the pain she knew was coming…

“Effie, come back.”

_Haymitch_.

But it made no sense. Haymitch wasn’t there. Haymitch had left her. Haymitch chose Katniss so it befell on _her_ to protect Peeta.

_Protect Peeta. Protect Peeta. Protect Peeta._

“Sweetheart… Sweetheart, you’re dreaming.”

Was she? Was she dreaming?

It didn’t feel like a dream.

It felt like a nightmare.

And still the hands were grabbing, trying to keep her still, trying to hurt her, trying to…

She woke with a gasp, feeling as if she had been kept underwater for too long. She was shivering and sobbing and for a second, a brilliant second, she remembered _everything_. And then it faded away with the remnants of the dream. All she could remember was the phantom of great pain, the terror, and that sentiment : Peeta needed to be protected.

She stopped struggling against Haymitch’s grip, melting against his chest instead.

“It’s okay.” he shushed her gently. “You’re safe. I got you, sweetheart.”

He held her tight, too tight for it to be very pleasant and yet it was comforting. She would have clenched at his shirt but he was bare-chested and she had no choice but to dig her fingers into his flesh. He smelt like cheap soap and liquor. That too was comforting. Familiar somehow, even though she couldn’t have explained why.

Her heart was hammering inside her chest and she couldn’t control the shivers that still ran through her body. She buried her face in his neck.

“It’s dark.” she said, between two sobs. “I don’t think I like the dark, Haymitch. I’m _scared_.”

It was ridiculous to be scared of the dark at her age – and she made a mental note to find out exactly how old she was – but she knew, with absolute clarity, that she abhorred darkness. People hid in the darkness, they laughed at you and taunted and mocked, they _hurt_ you… She _hated_ the darkness. You couldn’t tell how much time had passed when you were in the dark. You couldn’t tell if it was night or day. You couldn’t tell if you were dead or alive.

“You’re safe.” Haymitch promised, leaning in without letting go of her to switch the lamp on the bedside table on. A soft glow immediately washed parts of the room, casting some corners in shadows. “See? You’re in Twelve. You’re safe. It’s over.”

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe him _so much_.

“I don’t remember.” she stammered, clinging to him in panic. “Why am I scared? I don’t remember…”

He hesitated. His left arm remained around her waist but his right hand buried in her hair, cradling her head.

“It’s over.” he said again in a tone that let her know that, maybe, it was just as well she _didn’t_ remember.

“Protect Peeta.” she whispered, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. “I have to protect Peeta.”

He heaved out a sigh and pressed a soothing kiss to her neck. He had already done that in the afternoon, she wondered if that was an habit of his, something he used to do before she lost her memories. She shivered again but for very different reasons. His beard itched yet it felt right. She suspected she didn’t usually like facial hair and that he was an exception rather than the rule.

“Peeta is safe.” he told her. “He’s next door with Katniss. The kids are alright, sweetheart.”

He kept saying everyone was safe but she _didn’t_ feel safe. Her eyes darted over his shoulder from the dark corner next to the window to the open door that led on an equally dark corridor.

“What if they find me?” she asked.

She didn’t even know who she was talking about. The men who tried to kill her? Or the ones she was certain she needed to protect Peeta from? Or were they the same men? She was so confused… So _very_ confused…

“Nobody is going to find you.” Haymitch grumbled, combing his fingers through her hair. “And if anyone does try to hurt you, let them go through me. I won’t let you down again, I promised you that.”

She didn’t know what he was talking about. She didn’t know what he had promised to her or not. She didn’t know when and how he had let her down.

His words should have been alarming, she probably should have pushed him away and demanded some explanations but his presence was too comforting, _reassuring_ even. She was sure he would protect her. She was certain of it.

As to why she needed protection…

“What happened to me?” she asked.

She felt his hesitation, knew a lie was coming when his hand stopped brushing through her hair to coil at her nape. She didn’t know how she could tell because she didn’t remember a thing about him prior to meeting him in front of the hovercraft but perhaps a part of her _did_ remember those telltale signs.

“Nightmare.” he said.

“No…” she shook her head. “It wasn’t just a nightmare. You know it wasn’t. What happened to me?”

She could still feel the tendrils of pain lashing out at her in memories she couldn’t access. She could taste terror in its purest form. She still was half-convinced people were waiting for Haymitch to leave in order to jump on her and _hurt_ her… It wasn’t _just_ a nightmare.

He hesitated again and he held her tighter, as if to protect her from herself.

“Sweetheart, I’m not sure you should start with that part of your life.” he argued. “Why don’t you try remembering childhood things or… I don’t know. Wigs. You like wigs. You used to, at least…”

She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against his shoulder. Pain – real tangible pain not the ghost-like of her dream – shot through her when she put pressure on the wound but she knew now that it was nothing, that she had faced much worse.

“They hurt me.” she whispered. “They hurt Peeta. They tried to hurt Peeta by hurting me.”

She couldn’t recall the details. She couldn’t recall much at all. It was all a blur of feelings, fears, hazy faces… It was gone before she could go any deeper.

Haymitch flinched. “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t you.” she objected. Again, she was certain. Haymitch had never lifted a hand on her, never was a physical threat… She trusted him. She had trusted him from the start. It was instinctive and instinct, she hoped, never lied.

“The Capitol.” he told her at last. “It was the Capitol. During the war. They thought you would know things or that they could use you to…”

“The scars come from there.” she cut him off. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know more now. She wasn’t sure she could bear to hear the gory details. She didn’t want to. Perhaps it was a blessing she had forgotten about that. She had seen the scars on her body, she had stared at them and she had wondered. Now… She didn’t want to think about it anymore.

“I never saw the scars.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Not all of them anyway.”

Only the ones on her arms then. The tiny ones that were so easily hidden by long sleeves. There were some on her legs but the stockings made them fade away. He hadn’t seen her back, she supposed, he had never seen the crisscrossing lines and the burned patch of skin above her hip.

He could certainly glimpse them now, even though the lamp was shaded and did a poor job at lightening the room. The nightgown she was wearing wasn’t hiding the top of her back and his hand was still coiled around her neck. Surely her hair couldn’t hide the first scars…

_Protect Peeta_.

What an amendable sentiment. And where had _he_ been?, she wanted to ask. Where had he been when she and Peeta were being cut and beaten raw?

Her head hurt.

She suspected the answers to the swirl of questions wouldn’t make it any better.

She settled more comfortably against him and closed her eyes. Her head was a mess of jumbled thoughts and unreachable memories. It hurt. It hurt a lot.

“I was an escort and that was my punishment.” she whispered.

The sentence wasn’t hers. It was… Someone else’s. She didn’t remember who told her that. She didn’t remember much at all.

“No.” he spat firmly, wrenching her away from the safety of his chest to hold her at arm-length. His fingers were digging in her upper-arms but she remained silent because of the intense look in his eyes, they were searching hers as if to prove his point. “That was _my mistake_. Look… I won’t lie to you, Trinket. You’re fucked-up. You’re an uptight selfish brat who thinks the world belongs at her feet – or you used to be, at least. But you _didn’t_ deserve that. You fought for those kids, you fought for me when it came down to it. You’re fucked-up but you’re _good_ , okay? You didn’t deserve any of it and I should have protected you better.”

“Why?” she frowned. “You didn’t have to, did you?”

She searched his face, looking for… _something_. She had been flirting with him ever since she had put a foot in his house, it had seemed natural. He certainly didn’t seem to mind or find it odd. She thought she was a flirty person. The smiles and the quick comebacks came easily to her lips. She liked to be pretty. She liked when men looked at her. She had thought it was simply who she was but perhaps there was more to the story, perhaps there was something Haymitch wasn’t telling her.

“Were you and me…” she started but he shook his head and let go of her at once, as if he had been burned.

“You wish, sweetheart.” he joked but it fell flat. He looked everywhere but at her. “You should try to sleep a little more.”

Sleep…

Sleep didn’t seem a likely option, not when the nightmares were waiting for her in the darkness, but he was so obviously embarrassed by her question – and no doubt, in the light of day, she would be too – that she didn’t try to hold him back when he left her room.

She lied back down, brought the blankets as close to her chin as they would go, and didn’t even try to tell herself she would turn off the light in a little while. She only switched it off when dawn’s pale light trickled through her window, and only then did she feel safe enough to try to properly sleep some more. Until then, she had stopped herself at drifting off.

Still, she was up early. She tip-toed in the kitchen well before seven o’clock, careful not to make noise so as not to wake Haymitch up again. She prepared breakfast as an apology for disturbing his sleep with her screaming or, rather, she _tried_ to.

“What are you doing?”

His voice startled her and she jumped. The egg slipped from her fingers and crashed on the floor where it burst in an impressive mix of shell, yellow and translucent slimy matters. She couldn’t help a pout.

“I was cooking you breakfast if you must know.” she sighed, crouching to pick up the pieces of eggshell after making sure her dressing gown was secured.

_He_ hadn’t bothered with a dressing gown, she couldn’t help but notice. He only had blue sweatpants on, not even slippers which probably wasn’t a good idea given the cold tiles he was walking on. She tried not to let her eyes linger on his chest because it certainly wasn’t polite to stare but it was hard not to. The huge scar on his side, if nothing else, warranted a stare.

_Games_ , a little voice whispered in her mind and she accepted the explanation because she didn’t think he would welcome her asking about it.

The scar, and the dozen tinier ones, weren’t the only thing worth a stare, though. He certainly wasn’t muscular by any mean and there was a small pouch of fat at his waist, yet there was also the very appealing line of pale hair that ran from the middle of his chest to well beyond his navel and disappeared into the waistband of his pants.

Her mouth watered and she told herself it was because she was hungry and nothing more.

“Ah.” he sniffed, looking dubiously at the mess of eggshells and flour she had made on the kitchen counter. If he noticed her distraction, he didn’t show it, too busy eyeing her attempts at pancakes with open mistrust. “Is it edible?”

“Well…” she grinned, making a quick job of cleaning up the egg from the floor. “On the bright side, I now remember I hate cooking.”

“That explains it.” he snorted.

He wasn’t a great cook but he was better than her and he managed to salvage breakfast without too much effort. They remained silent through the meal, avoiding each other eyes until Effie couldn’t take it anymore. He said they were friends and she believed him but, in practice, in her head, she had only met him two days earlier and she already felt as if she was intruding and imposing.

She cleared her throat. “I must apologize for last night.”

“It’s okay.” he mumbled in his cup of coffee – he had laced it with whiskey while her back was turned. She wondered if she ought to say something about that but Katniss and Peeta had yet to comment on his over-the-top drinking habits so she was taking her cues from them.

“I didn’t know I was prone to nightmares.” she insisted. “It won’t happen again.”

She didn’t quite know how she could prevent them from happening again but she would think of something.

“Nightmares are old friends.” he shrugged bitterly. “Yours or mine, doesn’t make a difference.”

She felt out of sort long after he had gone to feed his geese and left her to her own devices. She took her time in the bathroom, finding pleasure in taking care of her appearance : fussing over her dress, the state of her hair, playing with her make-up… It felt familiar and comforting all at once.

She had spent more time in there than she had planned on but when she finally walked out of that bathroom, all dolled-up, she felt ready to take on the world. Even her head was hurting her less now that she was perched on the only pair of heeled shoes packed in her suitcase.

She took down the stairs two by two, a bright smile on her face. The terrors of the night seemed far away, the fear that she might never remember anything was distant… Everything seemed easier now that she was looking so much prettier. The dress, the shoes, the hair… It almost felt like a battle armor.

She heard noises in the kitchen so she walked in that direction but stopped behind the door when she heard the anger in Haymitch’s voice.

“Don’t be stupid.” he spat.

She frowned and peered inside, curious to who might have irked him so. The room was empty, he was leaning against the kitchen table, making a glass of whiskey twirl in his hand absentmindedly, the phone locked in his other hand. She darted out of sight before he could spot her. She didn’t know why. It was instinctive. Manners, probably.

“Yeah, well you’re not the only one responsible for that boy, Johanna.” he snapped abruptly. “He’s only two, what are you going to do if…”

The frown deepened on her face but she didn’t have time to ponder the thought. His silence was short-lived.

“No, I haven’t slept with her and, no, I don’t plan to.” he growled. “Can you stop being _fucking_ stupid and listen to me?”

Effie stepped away quickly, feeling bad for listening on what was obviously a private conversation. She was also unsettled by what she had heard. It was obvious now why Haymitch had been so ill-at-ease faced with her question the night before. He clearly had someone else in his life. Someone with whom he shared a two years old boy. Of course, he did. She had been an escort and he had been a victor. It was a miracle they were _friends_ already.

She felt stupid.

Her cheeks burned with the heat of her embarrassment.

The knock on the front door was a very welcomed distraction and she hurried there, opening it without a second thought. A young man was standing on the porch, dark hair and grey eyes, tanned skin, broad built and a gun strapped to his chest. _Very_ handsome.

“Miss Trinket.” the stranger nodded with a blank face.

“My apologies, do we know each other?” she asked.

He wasn’t familiar, not at all, and she didn’t feel the same ease as she did in Katniss’, Peeta’s or Haymitch’s presence.

The grey eyes – so similar to Katniss’ and Haymitch’s that she wondered if he was a relative – scanned her and something like a sneer played on his lips but it was hidden before it could truly come out.

“You really lost your memory, then?” the young man snorted. “Must be handy when you have a guilty conscience.” She flinched. However if his aim had been to hurt her, he didn’t seem to take much pleasure in it. He looked past her shoulder. “Is Haymitch here?”

“Yes, in the kitchen.” she answered, stepping out of the way to let him in.

Despite the gun and the less than amiable attitude, she didn’t think he was a threat. She was going to offer to show him the way but he walked past her without a backward glance and disappeared in the kitchen.

She stepped outside and slowly closed the door behind her. There were other men, in the same dark outfit the young man was wearing – some sort of uniform clearly – wandering around the village in small groups. Some were talking, some were smoking, some were pointing at abandoned houses… All eyes traced her progress more or less discreetly when she wandered in the street.

She swallowed the temptation to turn back and run to hide under the blankets of her bed.

Instead, she lifted her chin and forced herself not to fold her arms, even if it was quite cold without a coat. The stares followed her as she walked but she pretended not to notice or, at the very least, not to mind. She hadn’t been out of Haymitch’s house since she had arrived and she wasn’t quite sure where Katniss and Peeta lived but her feet took her three houses down the street. Patches of primroses greeted her and she was certain she was at the right place without exactly knowing why.

Katniss opened the door at her first knock, tossed an anxious glance at the men and ushered Effie inside. The layout of the houses were standard, it was a perfect copy of Haymitch’s except everything looked so different… For one thing that house wasn’t filled with bottles and books but by beautiful paintings. They were everywhere, the walls were covered with them. Katniss was a recurrent subject.

“Peeta painted them.” Effie whispered, as she followed her in the living-room. There were more paintings there, landscapes mainly.

“Yes.” Katniss nodded, moving to the window. She peeked behind the curtains. “Do you know who they are? The men?”

“I think their leader is talking with Haymitch.” Effie hummed distractedly, fascinated by the painting hanging above the fireplace. It was a sunset. At least she thought it was.

_I have started a painting…_ , Peeta’s voice echoed in her mind, laced with pain. _It’s a sunset. I love sunsets.. I will never finish it now._

_Of course, you will finish it_ , she had answered, _Someone will come to save us, you should believe that. Katniss will love your painting, I’m sure._

Her side ached with a phantom pain.

She turned her head away.

“Katniss, do you know where…” Peeta’s question trailed off into a smile when he spotted her. “Oh, hello, Effie.”

_Protect Peeta. At all cost. Protect Peeta._

She didn’t know who was the most surprised when she drew him into her arms : Peeta, Katniss or herself? Yet she clung to the boy – and he was a boy again in her mind, not a stranger, not a friend, but a darling boy she had come to love so, _so_ very dearly ; the sentiments were clear in her head even if she didn’t quite remember the details – and only breathed again when he hugged her back.

“Are you alright, Effie?” Peeta asked, without letting go.

“Oh, yes, yes, perfectly alright.” she lied, forcing herself to smile. “I’m just very happy to see you.”

“Starting to remember, aren’t you?” Katniss asked, turning back to her spying of the street.

“Snippets only.” Effie admitted, finally releasing the boy.

“It will come back.” Peeta offered “Believe me, I’m an expert. Katniss, stop looking at them it won’t make them disappear, you know.”

He added the last part in a teasing voice but Katniss sent him a glare anyway and declared she was going to make tea, all the while grumbling about meddling baker-slash-painters. There was such obvious fondness in her voice though, Effie couldn’t help but smile.

Their easy chatter distracted her and, before long, she found herself laughing along with Peeta. Katniss was naturally sullen and there was a constant sadness in her eyes but a smile often graced her lips if only briefly. They were very happy together, Effie decided, and they suited each other perfectly.

The conversation drifted from everyday matters to anecdotes about their past together – safe ones, Effie couldn’t help but notice, ones that didn’t directly refer to the Games. Peeta was in the middle of a story about how she had almost stabbed Haymitch with her fish fork because he had – accidentally or not, it was up for debate according to Katniss – spilled his wine on her dress, when the front door slammed open.

Katniss immediately bolted to her feet, a knife appearing in her hand out of nowhere. Peeta was slower in standing up but he was at Katniss’ side in seconds. As for Effie, she remained frozen on the couch.

“Girl!” Haymitch’s voice boomed from the corridor and everyone relaxed at once. “Have you seen…” His question morphed into a glare as soon as he spotted her. “I’ve been looking _everywhere_ for you. You couldn’t _tell me_ you were going out?”

She winced at the scowl on his face but huffed all the same. “I didn’t know I needed your permission. I simply wanted to visit the children.”

Haymitch’s grey eyes looked her up and down with obvious annoyance. “Calling them children again? You’re getting better by the hour. You’ve noticed they’re all grown-up? Do I need to find you glasses too?”

She pursed her lips and tilted her head, irritated by his dripping sarcasms.

The exchange was, however, cut short when the young man from earlier stepped out of Haymitch’s shadow.

Effie didn’t quite understand the instant shift in the mood but Peeta closed up abruptly and Katniss stared and stared, her breathing getting more and more labored until tears appeared in her eyes.

As for the stranger, he looked guarded, careful… But his attention never wandered away from the girl.

“Hello, Katniss.” he said.

Katniss remained silent. She sat back down – or rather, dropped on the couch – and Effie reached out instinctively, clasping her hand. The girl’s fingers remained numb to her touch.

At last, when the silence became too much, Peeta nodded at the other young man. “Gale.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Gasp* Gale is back! So what did you think of this chapter? Drop me a line!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, this chapter starts in the middle of the last one =)

Breakfast was awkward for _so many_ reasons.

First of all, Haymitch wasn’t accustomed to sharing a table with another person. When the kids came around to eat with him, they were always together and neither of them expected him to start a conversation. Then, there was the discussion he and Effie had shared in the dead of night. Talking about torture – and above all about _her_ being tortured – wasn’t one of his favorite pastime. All the more so when she raised questions about his implication in all of it. Truth was he should have protected her better, truth was he should have brought her to Thirteen with them and not listen to Plutarch when he had claimed she would have been safer in the Capitol, truth was he had fucked up big time and she had paid the price. Not that he was ready to tell her that in so many words.

They already had that discussion.

She would remember at some point.

Apart for his guilt and the bad quality of the scrambled eggs he had managed to save from her attempts at cooking pancakes, the awkward mood also came from her slightly gaping dressing gown. Each time she moved to grab something or other, he could glimpse a flash of creamy skin. He had been too focused on comforting her the night before to really entertain lustful thoughts but now, in broad daylight, when she wasn’t sobbing on his shoulder… He kept remembering the softness of her hair, the feel of her skin under his hand and how thin that silky nightgown had been.

And she was still clearly upset.

He was a sick man. A sick, _sick_ man.

He waved away her attempts at apologizing because, really, he didn’t care about her nightmares disturbing him and she shouldn’t be apologizing when he was acting like a pervert who couldn’t stop himself from leering at her cleavage.

He couldn’t get out of that kitchen quickly enough.

He dragged out feeding the geese much longer than he usually did, making sure the stray cat he had spotted lurking around once or twice hadn’t found a way into the pen. Everything looked alright though and soon, he was out of excuses not to go back inside. He heard Effie humming upstairs, in the bathroom, and he figured he would have a few hours of peace because she always took much too long to get ready.

Peace, of course, was a relative term as he found out when the phone started ringing in the kitchen. He should never have had that thing repaired.

“Yeah?” he answered with a gruff.

“ _Haymitch.”_ Plutarch greeted him with that fake cheerfulness Capitols always seemed so fond of.

“Twice in less than a week.” Haymitch snorted, stretching the phone cord as far as it would go in order to pour himself a glass of whiskey. “What’s up?”

There was a brief silence at the other end while the former Gamemaker wavered on the best way to announce what, Haymitch sensed, would be a new disaster.

“ _Remember when I said we were dealing with a small group mostly disorganized?”_ Plutarch asked.

“Pretty sure that’s not how you said it but whatever.” he shrugged. “What changed?”

_“They tried to blow me up in my car._ ”

Haymitch froze for a second and then put down the bottle of whiskey very carefully. “You’re the Secretary of Communication.”

Plutarch had bodyguards, the cream of the security services, he had protections for everything…

_“And now I have to buy a new car._ ” Plutarch sighed. “ _Clearly they are more organized than we thought and probably have more members and resources than anticipated. Your protection team is on its way to you. I instructed their leader to make contact with you as soon as they arrive. Now, Haymitch…_ ” The former Gamemaker let out another sigh. “ _I don’t want you to get alarmed or to alarm the others. There is next to no evidence suggesting that this group operates outside the Capitol and we have no proof they will go after Katniss…”_

“Katniss killed Coin. If they’re Coin’s loyalists…” he argued.

“ _For now, they’ve only gone after people involved in the Games.”_ Plutarch countered.

“Some people think victors worked with Snow.” Haymitch reminded him.

_“And that is why I’m sending a protection team._ ” Plutarch declared calmly. “ _As a preventive measure.”_

“Preventive measure, my ass.” he grumbled. “We’re sitting ducks here.”

“ _You fought for the rebels, Haymitch. Everybody knows that. I don’t think_ you _are in any particular danger.”_ the former Gamemaker commented.

“Fuck that.” Haymitch spat, gulping down half his glass of whiskey. “If they’re after the kids or Effie, they’re after me too. Keep me updated.”

He hang up, finished his glass and poured himself another before taking up the phone again. He had to rummage around the kitchen drawers before he found the little notebook in which he kept the numbers.

Annie picked up at the third ring, sounding delighted to hear from him. It seemed lively in Four, he could hear a child’s piercing laughter behind her. He bore Annie’s small talk for several minutes before he heard a door slamming on the other end and a quick muffled exchange. A second later, another feminine voice replaced Annie’s.

“ _What a coincidence…”_ Johanna growled. “ _We don’t hear from you in months and suddenly, soldiers showed up at the door and Haymitch Abernathy takes his ass out of his bottle long enough to phone.”_

He rolled his eyes. “My ass doesn’t fit in a bottle, Jo.”

_“Sure, it doesn’t_.” she snorted. “ _You’re getting old and fat, I heard._ ”

“From?” he lifted his eyebrows.

“ _Well, believe it or not, unlike you, your brainless bird does pick up the phone now and then.”_ she replied. “ _So, what do you want?”_

“What do you think?” he sighed, leaning against the kitchen table and pressing the glass of whiskey against his head and a futile attempt at keeping the headache at bay. Talking with Johanna _always_ gave him a headache. “Make sure everyone’s alright. I was thinking…”

_“No.”_ Johanna cut him off. _“We’re not moving our asses up to Twelve without a good reason and for now, I don’t have a good reason.”_

“Don’t be stupid.” he replied. He watched the whiskey twirl in his glass. He wasn’t surprised Johanna had guessed where he was going with that, she was a victor too. She must have thought about it. Strength was in number.

_“I’m not a stupid person, Haymitch_.” she retorted. _“The way I see it, your Mockingjay might just be in trouble again and this time I’m staying out of it. I have Annie and Finn to think about.”_

“Yeah, well, you’re not the only one responsible for that boy, Johanna!” he snapped, annoyed. What if his guts were right and there was a lot more to that story than what Plutarch had described? What if they decided to attack the victors? Annie wasn’t totally helpless but she certainly wouldn’t be a great opponent. And there was the kid to take into account… “He’s only two, what are you going to do if…”

“ _Let me worry about Finn.”_ Jo interrupted him. “ _I heard the sad tale from Heavensbee and, for now, I think we’re safer in Four. Not the only sad tale I heard, by the way… Have you fucked Trinket yet?”_

His grip on the glass tightened.

“No.” he scowled, a warning in his voice that she would do best not to pursue on that familiar path of taunting. “I haven’t slept with her and I don’t plan to. Can you stop being _fucking_ stupid and listen to me?”

Of course, Johanna had never been good at doing as she was told. She was a lot like Katniss that way.

_“I heard she lost her mind.”_ Jo cackled. “ _She was always batshit crazy if you ask me but…”_

“She knocked her head. She’s amnesiac.” he corrected, swallowing the rest of his whiskey. “Listen, I have a bad feeling. Just pack your bags and…”

_“Amnesiac.”_ Jo repeated. “ _Maybe you’ve got a chance, then. If she doesn’t remember you let her rot in prison…”_

There was bitterness in Johanna’s voice and maybe a small accusation too.

“Well, maybe if you had told the rescue team where she was…” Haymitch spat back.

_“I wasn’t in any state to tell them anything.”_ Johanna shot back defensively. _“Annie was the only one awake and Annie wanted Finnick. You’re going to_ fucking _blame her for that? She wasn’t on the list, Haymitch. You gave them a list. She wasn’t on it. That’s on you, not on me. Don’t you fucking dare put that on me.”_

“How was I supposed to know she was in that prison?” he growled. “We had _no_ clue.”

“ _Does that help you sleep at night?”_ she sneered.

No. No, it didn’t. Neither did the fact that _he_ hadn’t given them the list. The list was Katniss’. He had still been contained in the cell they called a withdrawal facility when she had drawn it up and it had never occurred to the girl to include their escort.

“Not the question.” he insisted, clenching his jaw.

“ _Very much the question.”_ Jo retorted. _“I saw her after the war you know. She checked up on me, I guess sharing a cell makes us friends in her stupid little world…”_ Johanna stopped long enough that he knew he wouldn’t like what would come next. And he didn’t. _“She believed in you. To the very moment she was rescued, she_ fucking _believed you would never have abandoned her on purpose. She thought there had been some mistake, she couldn’t shut up about that when we were in there. She kept telling us if you really were in Thirteen you would send someone to rescue us. She kept telling us you would never let your friends down. It fucked her up for good when she learned the truth. Don’t fuck her up again, Haymitch, or I swear to God I will come up to Twelve and you won’t like it_.”

He wondered if that was Johanna’s version of the brother talk and in what world they were living in now for Johanna Mason to think it necessary to protect _Effie Trinket_ from him.

The knock on the kitchen door almost made him jump out of his skin because if Effie had heard any of that…

But it wasn’t Effie.

“ _Fucking_ perfect.” he cursed, appraising the newcomer. “Jo, I will call you back.”

_“Don’t bother_.” Johanna said before cutting off the phone conversation.

“Haymitch.” Gale Hawthorne nodded at him, extending a hand.

Haymitch shook it because he had nothing personal against the kid but, _really…_ “Out of anyone, Plutarch sent _you_?”

He would bet Gale’s grin was still making a lot of pretty girls swoon but he saw the sourness behind it. Plutarch should have warned him, at the very least.

“He sent me because I’m the best.” Gale shrugged without any trace of modesty. “Believe me, I wasn’t thrilled.”

He could believe that easily enough. He turned around to pour himself another glass, taking advantage of having his back turned to rub a hand against his face, his thoughts immediately going to Katniss. The girl didn’t like the idea of a protection team, she would like it even less when she would learn who exactly was leading it.

“Heard you got a fancy job in Two?” he asked, purely to waste time. He needed time.

“I’m the Head of the training center for new troops.” Gale answered.

“ _Fancy_.” Haymitch snorted in his glass, finally turning back to face him. “I don’t know how she will react.”

Gale nodded but kept a blank face. “I figured. How is she doing?”

“Better.” he granted with a shrug. “She will never be the same but… she’s doing better. Having Peeta around helps a lot.”

There was a warning in his voice and Gale didn’t mistake it for anything else.

“I’m not here to screw her up, Haymitch, you can relax.” the kid replied. “Now, let’s be clear. Officially, I’m in charge but Plutarch made it clear I needed to keep you in the loop.”

“Too good of him.” Haymitch mumbled.

Gale pretended not to hear and went on. “He thinks there’s nothing to worry about but I don’t share that feeling.”

“Good.” he declared. “I don’t either.”

“Yeah. I thought you would say that.” Gale’s grey eyes sparkled with amusement but it soon disappeared. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Me and my team are going to blend in.”

“Awesome job you’re doing at blending in.” Haymitch mocked, nodding at his dark uniform and at the gun strapped on his chest.

The kid was all business now and Haymitch could see why someone so young had been appointed to a position with so many responsibilities. Gale had always been a good soldier, he had been like a fish in water in Thirteen. Sometimes, late at night, when he had been reviewing footage with Plutarch and Cressida, Haymitch had mused that he would have made a perfect tribute. With a little push of luck, the boy could have also made a perfect victor.

“None of you go anywhere without a tail.” Gale announced. “Least of all Katniss.”

Haymitch approved with a nod but didn’t even try to suppress his smirk. “You can deliver the good news.” The girl would be _thrilled_. “You better find someone who’s good at hunting. I don’t see her giving up on her daily trekking in the wood.”

Something flashed on Gale’s face. Something that looked like longing.

“I could go with her.” the kid suggested. “Maybe.”

“Maybe.” he shrugged. That was for Katniss to decide. If she didn’t want to talk to Gale, she would make it known. “I need someone competent for Trinket. She’s safe with me but if I’m not here or if she wants to go out…”

He didn’t know how long the situation was going to last – truthfully, he didn’t know how long he had until Effie recovered her memory and remembered she hated his guts – he hoped Plutarch was right and they were just being overcautious.

“My men are all very competent.” Gale argued.

“But you’re the best and you’re going to protect Katniss.” he retorted. “No arguing there. But I want the second best for Trinket.”

Gale stared at him for a second as if he was dying to say something. The boy had learned though and he swallowed back what was surely an unpleasant reminder that Effie _was_ – or had been, tenses didn’t matter for some people – an escort and, as such, didn’t deserve them to go to so many troubles for her.

Haymitch didn’t know exactly what had happened during the rescue mission that had brought the victors back from the Capitol, the only people who had the answers to his questions were dead and the only one still alive would never tell him. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to ask Gale because once he knew the truth, there would be no forgetting – or forgiving – and he hated too many people as it was.

Yet… The idea had kept him awake at nights afterwards, once Johanna had spat the information at him with one of her trademark sneer : Effie had been detained with them. How was it possible that the rescue team had not seen her? Not _found_ her?

She wasn’t on the list.

That was the elusive explanation Boggs had given him when he had finally cornered the man.

He didn’t know if that meant they had left her there on purpose or if they simply hadn’t tried to search for her. Effie had never told him what had happened and Johanna had been knocked out at that point, as for Peeta and Annie, there was no asking _them_.

“Forgetting Peeta again?” Gale taunted.

“Nobody tried to kill him yet and he didn’t shot an arrow at Coin’s heart. Out of the three, he’s the safest one.” He narrowed his eyes at the boy. “Careful, kid. I don’t like what you’re implying and I don’t mind kicking your ass.”

“I’m not a kid anymore.” Gale spat. “As for kicking my ass, why don’t you try?” _Oh, yeah_ … Gale Hawthorne would have made a great victor. He would have fitted perfectly in Brutus’ crowd. “I would like to update Katniss and Peeta on the safety measures.” Gale continued. “If that’s alright with you, of course.”

He didn’t like the sarcasm in the boy’s voice no more than he liked his sudden arrogance.

“Let’s go tell them, then.” Anger and annoyance laced his voice but he didn’t want a fight, not yet. “Trinket!”

His yell remained unanswered even though he was sure she must have been around. Aside for her memory, she had displayed all of the old Effie’s usual personality quirks : her attachment to proper manners, her escort mask of cheerfulness when she was ill-at-ease, her easy smiles, her love for witty comebacks… Effie had never been above snooping when she wanted to know something and she would never have been content to remain out of the loop when she might have been the topic of discussion. Besides, he couldn’t hear the TV or any obvious sign of activity and she wasn’t the kind to sit around doing nothing.

He peeked out in the corridor, ready to call her out on her eavesdropping but she wasn’t there. A quick search of the house revealed her absence and, by that point, Haymitch was starting to get really worried. His first thought – because Johanna’s warnings were still ringing in his ears – was that she had finally remembered everything and was probably on her way back to the Capitol. A more logical part of him reminded him that she wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye, it wasn’t very proper after all.

Gale didn’t seem overly concerned by her disappearance. He went to question his men while Haymitch made a beeline for the kids’ house, knowing it was the best bet.

And there she was, sitting in the kids’ living-room, sipping her tea with all the calm and poise of a proper Capitol lady. His anger at her careless attitude was quickly replaced by relief when she referred to Katniss and Peeta with her familiar _children_.

The latent fear that she had recovered her memory and would start hating him again was still very present but she wasn’t looking at him with hatred or even resentment. She was just annoyed and he guessed the banter would have gone on if Gale hadn’t chosen that moment to enter the house and step inside without being invited.

“Hello, Katniss.” he said, staring at the girl.

Katniss was pale and Haymitch could tell she was shaking. She sat back on the couch – or _dropped_ rather – and Effie immediately took her hand, shooting Haymitch a puzzled glance.

“Gale.” Peeta nodded.

It didn’t break the tension.

“You said you didn’t want a stranger, sweetheart.” Haymitch declared with a shrug. He was careful to sound detached but he watched Katniss like a hawk. “I guess we were overdue for some reunion.”

Without a word, Katniss stood up and exited the room. She paused next to Gale, they stared at each other for a few seconds and then she was walking again as if her feet couldn’t carry her fast enough.

“She will be alright.” Peeta said, his eyes tracking her retreat. “She just needs a minute.”

“I should check on her.” Effie offered. She was gone before Haymitch could stop her, tell her _he_ was usually the one dealing with an upset Katniss, that she handled Peeta better…

“I’m not here to…” Gale started but Peeta interrupted him, waving his explanation away.

“I know.” the boy said, forcing a smile on his lips. He had learned some tricks from Effie, Haymitch mused. “So, what do I need to know?”

By the time they were done reviewing the safety measures Gale was going to put into place, Peeta’s jaw was tensed. Haymitch guessed he wasn’t totally pleased with the prospect of Gale playing the role of Katniss’ bodyguard. Still, he insisted to be the one to break the news to her which Haymitch thought was a good idea because he wasn’t sure she would accept anything coming from Gale yet.

By the time Effie finally came down, he was more than ready to escape the odd tension in the room and he lost no time in dragging her out of the house.

“Katniss was very upset.” Effie told him “Who is that boy?”

“Everyone’s a kid to you today, aren’t they?” he snorted.

“I am serious.” she insisted, quickening her pace to catch up with him. He slowed down, falling in step with her like he had done so many times before.

“A ghost from the past. It seems it’s the season.” he mocked. Her stern face told him now wasn’t the time to make jokes, though. She always hated to see the kids upset. At some point during Victory Tour he had been afraid she would start ripping heads off people who hurt them consciously or not. “Gale Hawthorne. He and Katniss have a history. He doesn’t like you by the way.”

“Yes, I could tell.” she replied with a huff. “A most _rude_ young man. A shame. He is quite handsome, but devilish charm without manners is worthless.”

“Funny, you said that about me too, once.” he chuckled.

“I think not.” she scoffed.

“Why, Trinket…” he teased. “Are you saying I’m not rude anymore?”

She glanced at him just as they were reaching his garden, a grin tugging at her lips. “That isn’t the part I am disputing.”

It took him a few seconds to make sense of _that_.

“You don’t find me handsome anymore.” He _wasn’t_ pouting. Not _at all_.

“Well… It _is_ hard to tell with that thing on your chin that hides half of your face.” she retorted. “Is it a beard? Is it a dead porcupine? One doesn’t know. How… _fashionably risqué_ of you…”

He shook his head, fighting hard to keep the smile off his face and grabbed her arm to stop her. They were standing in his backyard, they weren’t as exposed as they had been in the street. Her gaze was inquisitive and he was struck again by how perfectly blue her eyes were.

And there it was again.

_The spark_.

The odd electric tension that always seemed to ignite between them.

“You could just have said you wanted me to shave.” he pointed out.

“I was hoping you would take the hint.” She flashed him a grin but it was soon replaced by a small frown. “I don’t think… Not clean shaven, though…” She brushed a tentative hand against his chin, the tip of her fingers barely making contact with the unkempt tangle of facial hair – she might have had a point with the shaving, Katniss had been begging for weeks but he couldn’t be bothered. She took her hand back quickly, as if she had been burned, and averted her eyes before clearing her throat. “Stubble.” she declared. “I think stubble would suit you best.”

There were two red spots on her cheeks. He watched, fascinated, as the crimson blush spread and spread all the way down her neck. He licked his lips, dying to follow that blush with his mouth.

“Please, stop.” she whispered.

“Stop what?” he asked, his voice rougher than a few seconds earlier.

“Stop looking at me like that.” she clarified, avoiding his eyes. “I do not think Johanna would like it.”

He flinched.

“Spying on me, sweetheart?” he scowled. He had been right then. She still was the eavesdropping kind.

“I didn’t…” She let her sentence trail off and then sighed. “I heard a part of the conversation. I just thought I would let you know I understand completely if you’d rather I stayed at the children’s place. Or even in another empty house. There are a lot of them… I could…”

“I don’t want you to leave.” he said before he could think better of it.

She hesitated. Her eyes darted up to his face and down just as quickly. “Haymitch, I know you said we were in no way involved before but…”

“Never said _in no way._ ” he corrected her, his heart hammering in his chest. His hands felt clammy and he buried them deep in his pockets. Still, he looked at her, even if _she_ wouldn’t look at him, almost defiant. “Look, I don’t know what you heard…”

“I heard enough.” She interrupted him softly. “I don’t remember what we use to be and I can’t quite make sense of what you’re explaining but… I think we should agree the past is in the past. I don’t intend to put your life upside down.”

A bucket of freezing water poured on his head wouldn’t have been a harsher awakening than this one.

She must have heard the part about not sleeping with her, he thought. That was just his sort of luck. “Effie…”

“Are we friends?” She bit her bottom lip, meeting his eyes for the first time since the beginning of that particular conversation.

“Yeah, sure.” he grumbled. “But, Effie…”

“That’s all I need.” She smiled brightly and he didn’t have the heart to insist when she looked so happy. She had looked too sad and desperate after the war and most of it had been his own fault. She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “I can’t tell you how much your friendship has meant to me those past few days. You have no idea how much… _Oh my god!”_ Her eyes were staring at something behind him and her voice had gone very high pitched. “Oh, you are _so_ precious!”

Somehow, he figured she wasn’t talking to him.

She cooed and cooed at the fluffy white kitten who eyed her with open mistrust.

Haymitch glared at the little monster for two reasons : first, he had taken up Effie’s attention; two, he should have known that black stray cat that lurked around the pen was just _too_ big.

The kitten dashed away and Effie followed, still cooing and making silly noises at it. Haymitch watched her, wondering how quick he could distract her from the kitten – there was _no way_ he would let a kitten near his geese. No way.

Of course, he realized, when she squealed in delight, that the point was moot.

He edged closer. Effie was crouching next to a clutter of wooden planks he had been planning to throw away for years.

He should have known. Cat never had only _one_ kitten. Five. _Five_ little demons that mewled and yawned and tilted their tiny heads to look at them, safe in the makeshift shelter of the planks. The white one was a daring one, he lied low next to Haymitch’s shoe, wriggling his butt left and right, before finally jumping to battle his shoelace.

Effie giggled. “He’s such a _darling_.”

“We’re _not_ keeping them.” he warned her.

Her enthusiasm died down at once and she pouted, reaching out to the nest of kittens. Most of them tried to escape her touch but one of them, a brown ball of fur, simply sniffed her hand before deciding it wasn’t a threat. It started purring like crazy when she scratched it behind the ears.

“Where is their mother?” she asked, looking around.

“Gone probably.” he shrugged. He hadn’t seen the black stray cat in a while. On retrospect, it probably wasn’t the cleverest thing to say.

“But…” Effie argued, looking up at him with wide eyes. “What are they going to do out there on their own? Can they even hunt?”

He gave the kittens a dubious once over. Aside for the white one, who was still busy trying to kill Haymitch’s shoelace, the kitten were all skinny and didn’t seem very interested in exploring. They huddled close together and mewled.

“They better start if they want to stay alive.” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the pen. It was too high for the kitten or at least he hoped so. The honking would probably dissuade them. It would be better for them. An adult cat could probably hold its own against a geese but he doubted an encounter between his birds and those kittens would end well for the felines.

“Haymitch…” Effie whined. “We can’t leave them here, what if they die?”

“They won’t die.” He rolled his eyes. “And if they die, they’re not meant to survive. It’s the way nature works. Come on, let’s get you inside.”

He shooed the white kitten away and waited impatiently for her to stand up again. She kept looking back on the way to the door and she sighed as if her heart was broken once in the kitchen.

“Stop pouting, you’re not a child.” he muttered, pouring himself a drink.

She wrinkled her nose at him in annoyance and disappeared in the living-room with a huff.

If she thought he didn’t know she went out to feed the kittens, she was very much mistaken. He didn’t say anything though. It was too fun to watch her playing the ninja, sneaking behind him when he wasn’t looking and stealing the scraps left from the previous dinner. She looked all smug and pleased afterwards and all he could think about was kissing that grin off her lips. He blamed the kittens.

It was all the kittens’ fault and that was what he told himself when he shaved off his beard that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is MEGA long I would appreciate feedback! Thank youuu <3


	5. Chapter 5

“Where is Katniss ?” Effie asked on their way up town. “I haven’t seen her in a few days.”

“In the woods.” Peeta shrugged.

“With Gale.” she surmised. The boy’s lack of answer was one in itself.

The conversation lulled to a stop as they neared the busiest part of the District. She had only been there for a little more than a week but Effie already knew the town was always more crowded on market day. Truth be told, it was how she liked it best. All the colorful stands, the merchants calling out to people in hope of getting rid of their stock, the busy shoppers who hurried around the place – bumping into each other, shouting greetings, avoiding the children who were freely running around… All the agitation always made her feel strangely homesick. As homesick as one could get when they didn’t remember their home anyway.

Their bodyguards, she knew, _hated_ market days and they hated even more that Peeta and Effie insisted on going. She still wasn’t used to being shadowed every time she put a foot out of Haymitch’s house – and she _needed_ to escape the confine of his house sometimes, he was a difficult man to live with – the constant trail made her nervous. The man Gale had assigned to her was nice enough. Discreet, courteous and, Haymitch had particularly insisted on that point : efficient. Yet, Effie was still ill-at-ease, resenting the constant eyes burning a hole at the back of her neck. Peeta showed less discomfort but she knew he hated the attention as much as she did. They _all_ did.

Haymitch had made quite a scene when Gale had declared he would have a shadow too.

And the men currently trailing them were only the visible parts of a more complex machine. There were other soldiers, hidden in empty houses, lost in the crowd…

Instead of feeling safe, it made Effie feel encaged.

“How is she doing?” she insisted, picking the conversation up before any attempt at talking could be lost due to the noise at the market place.

Katniss had been making herself scarce at Haymitch’s house and when Effie visited, she was always out. When she had voiced her worries, Haymitch had told her it was her way of coping but Effie wasn’t convinced.

“Better than Gale.” Peeta offered, with a small smile.

She hid her own grin. She wasn’t very fond of the Hawthorne boy and it was clearly mutual so she wasn’t particularly sad when he had come back with a shiner after his first day of hunting with Katniss and a second one the next day. Everyone pretended nothing was amiss but she had noticed Katniss was more relaxed around him after that even though she was keeping her distance from the young man. Being protected by Gale wasn’t something Katniss had accepted easily, she had raged and begged Haymitch for a whole hour, she had yelled and she had cried, she had threatened to do things that had made Effie gasp but Haymitch had simply told the girl to _suck it_ , that he _was_ sorry, that it wasn’t his personal choice, that it wouldn’t be for long anyway and that if Gale was the best then she was getting the best because he would rather deal with her temper than her corpse, end of discussion.

If not the company the girl seemed to enjoy the outings, they spent most of the day hunting or checking snares. Effie was starting to worry about Peeta and his relationship with the girl but he didn’t seem concerned. When she had probed the matter, he had simply stated that he trusted Katniss and that it had always been up to her anyway.

She was missing a huge part of the story that she guessed to be lost somewhere in her head and Haymitch was laconic in his explanations.

“How’s Haymitch?” Peeta grinned, eyes sparkling in mischief.

“As difficult as ever.” Effie grated through clenched teeth. _And for different reasons_ , she added in the safety of her own mind. The drinking wasn’t as big a problem as she had feared, he was clearly pacing himself in case something happened, but she was starting to wonder what would happen when he would finally snap and get very, _very_ drunk.

As for the rest… The constant disagreements, she could handle, but when the bickering started to border on flirting… It was getting difficult. She found herself wanting to touch him – in an innocent way, that was the worst, she yearned for casual touches like tousling his hair when she passed by the couch or grabbing his hand when they were walking close together… She desperately wished she could remember what their relationship had been made of before… She could imagine but she would have liked to _know_.

“He’s a good man.” Peeta said. If Katniss had uttered those words, it would have come out defensive, a warning perhaps. Effie had learned that the girl was just as protective of Haymitch as he was of the children. Peeta was quieter in his affection, less… _feral_.

“That he is.” she agreed easily, right before they plunged in the crowd swarming around the various stands.

Haymitch _was_ a good man, she mused as she followed Peeta who was taking out his grocery list, even though Haymitch was also a very difficult man to get to know. She had been living in his guestroom for more than a week and all she knew about his life was that he had, once upon a time, won the Hunger Games. The rest was a total mystery. There were no pictures in his house, no hint that he had any family left – which puzzled her because what about Johanna and their son? – no personal touch… Sometimes, his eyes grew dark for no obvious reasons and he sulked for hours, drinking until the bottle was empty, lost in memories that were locked to her. She hated those moments, she liked the bantering better : the moments where he would smirk at her and tease and taunt until she was red in the face with irritation.

He also had nightmares.

She had heard him on a few occasions but she hadn’t dared try to wake him up like he did for her. It was plain as day that he was a broken man, held together by liquor and the children’s unreserved love. It probably should have frightened her but she was beginning to suspect she was broken too.

She wandered away from Peeta to another part of the market, where more frivolous items than food were being sold. Those stands were less crowded which was a relief because she didn’t want to have to fight for the merchant’s attention. She bought two new sticks of eye bags concealer, hoping it would be enough to hide the shadows under her eyes. She was using so much of it that her own stock was starting to run out.

Effie was damaged, she knew that now.

It hadn’t been so obvious after her release from the hospital, right after the car accident. Aside for the throbbing head and the missing memories, she had felt alright. She wasn’t so alright now. The nightmares were too powerful, they terrified her to the point she fought not to fall asleep and, when she eventually woke up screaming, she found things to occupy her time with that didn’t involve dozing off. She couldn’t bear the dark. She didn’t know what it was about darkness, didn’t remember, but she would shake for hours if she didn’t switch on the lamp on the bedside table at night. And that wasn’t the worst. The worst was, after waking up from a nightmare, she was restless. She _needed_ to check that the front and back door were both locked, she _needed_ to make sure her window was shut, she _needed_ to find a semblance of safety.

How Haymitch could bear her nightly antics, she didn’t know.

He always waved away her clumsy and embarrassed attempts at apologizing, claiming that his sleep schedule had been busted for years anyway. She wondered if he sometimes felt the same pull to do stupid things like unlock and relock the door twice to make sure it was safely closed. She often heard him roaming the house at night too but she figured he was just in search of another bottle of liquor.

Still, it was embarrassing how deeply her nightmares impacted on her life. She suspected that it was because she was fighting against the memories. Her dreams were always fuzzy but she never made an effort to remember the details. It scared her too much. The situation couldn’t last, she knew something would give, but, for now, it was how it was : she woke up after two hours of sleep, often to find Haymitch already there, ready to hold her until she calmed down, on two or three memorable occasions she had come to her senses in the middle of the corridor and he had stepped out of his room to find her there, frozen, not daring to actually seek his comfort all the way to his bed. _That_ , she somehow sensed, was a line they shouldn’t cross.

The merchant was nice and the products were cheap so she treated herself to new bright eye shadows while she was at it. She strolled around for a while, ignoring the rude staring of some bystanders – she had learned quickly that most people weren’t pleased by her presence in Twelve – and pretending she couldn’t feel the burn of her bodyguard’s eyes on the back of her neck. The crowd was thick and she was sure if she stopped abruptly, he would collide with her. She didn’t try to launch a discussion, he wasn’t much of a chatter and he had told her in no uncertain terms that he needed to focus.

She stopped at a stand on which rolls upon rolls of fabric were exposed. Bright colors and more inconspicuous ones, plain or with patterns… Wool, taffetas, cotton… Her head was spinning. She instinctively reached for the shiny pink silk and just as her fingers touched the shimmering fabric… It came back.  

It was like a veil had lifted in her mind.

She laughed with undisguised joy, even though people looked at her like she was crazy, and emptied her purse on all the pieces of fabric she could buy. When Peeta found her, she was grinning like a maniac.

She couldn’t wait to go back to the Victors’ Village and the boy teased her gently all the way back about her lack of patience. She didn’t care. She hurried inside the house, dropped her purchases in the hall, and rushed to the living-room, waving the pink piece of silk in her hand like a victory flag.

Haymitch was lounging on the couch, a book in one hand, a bottle in the other, and looked up at her with lifted eyebrows. “Won the race, sweetheart?”

She ignored his sarcasm and almost bounced in her excitement. “As soon as I finished high-school I took up an apprenticeship in a designer house. I wanted to become a stylist, I loved the dresses, the shoes, the wigs… Someone noticed me and asked if I was interested in modeling, that’s how I started my career as a model. My first fashion show was for Fanteglini and the shoes were _hideous_ , my feet were bleeding by the end of the night but people said I was so beautiful I would be a star. So I went on modeling and I became famous and that’s how Gamemaker Marcello found out about me and offered me the job as an escort.”

She was out of breath by the time she was done.

She was expecting an exclamation of sort but Haymitch only stared at her with a blank face.

“You got your memory back.” he said at last, tossing the book on the coffee table and taking a swing out of his bottle in the same movement.

“Some of it.” she replied with a frown. “The more recent years are still… unclear. But I do remember my modeling years! And how I _love_ fashion…” She pressed the piece of silk against her heart. Silk was her favorite fabric, always had been. She loved the feeling against her skin, she loved how pretty it looked, she loved _everything_ about silk… And it had brought her back her past. “I should make an headscarf out of this.” she mused, already imagining what she could do with that patch of fabric.

“Covering your hair again?” he scowled.

The idea clearly held no appeal to him. Refusing to let his bad temper deter her, she nudged his legs off the couch so they could sit properly side by side like civilized people. Her smile was so bright it was starting to hurt.

“I feel _amazing,_ Haymitch.” she laughed. “Do you know that until this morning I didn’t remember the difference with a shawl and a wrap?” She shook her head at her own stupidity. “How could I forget?”

“Who knows.” he grumbled, swallowing more alcohol.

“Do you know what happened to my wardrobe?” She bit her bottom lip, suddenly concerned with things that had seemed to her very trivial until then. She had been content with her five dresses, two skirts and four blouses. “I have far too few clothes and they can’t possibly belong to me, they’re _horrid_. Look at this…” She glared at the simple blue dress she was wearing. “It’s _ghastly_! No accessories, no rustles…”

“I think it looks great.” he cut her off. “Goes with your eyes.”

It was the most direct compliment he had paid her since her arrival and she blushed a little, tampering her enthusiasm. Perhaps the dress wasn’t _that_ bad. It could certainly do with a few ameliorations here and there…

“You don’t look very happy for me…” she observed cautiously, watching him gulp down his liquor.

He froze, bottle halfway to his lips and lowered his hand.

“It’s good you’re remembering.” he stated so flatly she knew there was something he wasn’t saying. “It means you’re recovering. You will get your whole memory back in no time.”

And _that_ , she started to surmise while prattling at length about fashion and modeling and what-not, might just very well be his problem. He listened to her chatter, barely snapping enough side-comments to make everything look normal, and when her mouth was dry and she had finally exhausted the topic, he brushed a hand against her cheek. There was sorrow in his grey eyes. Sorrow and longing.

He locked himself up in his room after that.

She didn’t know what she had done wrong or what she had said. She put his behavior on the recurrent bouts of melancholia he sometimes displayed and kept busy by making sure the house wasn’t falling prey to dirt and trash again, designing plans for what to do with the fabrics she had bought – enough for two dresses and maybe curtains for her room – and, of course, feeding the kittens while he wasn’t looking.

The cats mewled as soon as they saw her, used, by now, to accepting the food she brought. She spent a few minutes outside, making sure everyone had its share and giving out caresses and cuddles. The brown one was the nicest, it always wanted to be cuddled and scratched behind the ears. She didn’t dare give it a name because she knew Haymitch didn’t want them – she also knew the only reason the kittens were still there was because he didn’t want her to throw a fit if they mysteriously disappeared as, she guessed, would have happened if she hadn’t been there when he had found them. Not that she thought him capable of killing the poor babies but he would certainly have left them to fend for themselves and then…

She went back inside before she could linger on the thought. Peeta stopped by in the evening, dragging a sullen Katniss behind him with her day’s game. As they cooked dinner – or rather as _Peeta_ cooked dinner – Effie told them about the memories she had gotten back. The children both looked very pleased and encouraging in the way Haymitch should have reacted – although Katniss _did_ stop listening to her fashion stories after a while – which made her feel a little less unsettled. At some point, the girl disappeared upstairs, presumably to coax Haymitch out of his room, but she reappeared only to tell them he wasn’t hungry.

Dinner was a quick affair. Everyone kept stealing glances at Haymitch’s empty chair and once Effie made the mistake of bringing up Gale, there was no getting a word out of the girl. She chatted with Peeta but the boy was obviously relieved when they could finally leave.

Alone again, Effie placed the leftovers aside in case Haymitch wanted some later on and washed the dishes. She lingered in the living-room, watching TV without really following anything… She was waiting for him, she realized. Yet, he didn’t reappear, not even to tour the house like he usually did each night. She did. She made sure every window was secure, she made sure the doors were locked…

It came as a surprise to her, when she finally lied down in her bed, to find out she was exhausted. Remembering so much had taken a lot more out of her than she had realized. She was asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.

She woke up with a start a few hours later.

It was different this time, though. She wasn’t in a panic, she wasn’t shaking with terror… No fragment of nightmares haunted her mind…

It was something else that had woken her up and she soon realized what.

Something _crashed_.

Her heart racing, she bolted out of bed and grabbed the nearest item that could be used as a weapon : her hair straightener. She remained still, clutching the device with both hands, ready to use it as a bat, for what she could have sworn were the longest minutes of her life. All she could hear was the loud _thumping_ of the blood in her ears.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, there was another crashing noise.

It came from downstairs.

Too afraid to think straight, she rushed down the corridor to Haymitch’s room. The door was open, the bed unmade but Haymitch was nowhere to be seen. She even checked the bathroom but aside for a heap of empty bottles tossed seemingly at random, she found nothing.

Still, more noises were regularly coming from downstairs : furniture being dragged, things being smashed on the floor… She edged closer to the stairs, all the way telling herself it was a bad idea and that Haymitch would kill her for possibly confronting a burglar without waiting for him – _if_ the burglar wasn’t part of that mysterious group that wanted them all dead in which case she supposed someone else would kill her first.

“ _Shit_!” a male voice cursed. It was followed by a louder crash and another “ _Fucking shit.”_

She relaxed when she recognized Haymitch’s voice and dropped her makeshift weapon on the table in the hall not keen on being mocked. She leaned against the living-room doorframe, hoping to give him the same kind of fright he had given her.

“Is it really the time for redecorat…” her joke died on her lips when she saw him sprawled on his stomach. “ _Haymitch_!”

She rushed forward, finally noticing that the couch wasn’t in its usual place and the coffee table was upturned.

“I’m fine!” he snapped when she placed a hand on his back. The words were slurred and he most certainly _wasn’t_ fine. She hadn’t had the presence of mind to turn on the light but the smell was telling. There was vomit all over the floor and his shirt. He was lying in it. She took her hand back instinctively, swallowing down a gag at the same time as her disgust. She wasn’t even wearing slippers…

“You’re drunk.” she spat.

“Am always drunk, Trinket.” he mumbled. “Fuck off.”

“And a charming drunk, you are too.” She wrinkled her nose and tried to find a solution to the obvious problem.

“’Am gonna take a little nap.” he slurred, curling on his side.

“Certainly not in a puddle of your own vomit.” she sighed. There was nothing for it, she supposed. She grabbed his arm and did her best to haul him to his feet despite his lack of cooperation. She managed to get him upright, although he was mostly unable to support his own weight and she tried very hard not to think about what the sticky things she could feel on her nightgown were.

“Just leave me on the couch.” he grumbled, obviously annoyed by her attempts to help.

She glanced at the couch, glanced at him and decided against it. He needed a change of clothes at the very least. He was so drunk, she felt a cold shower was in order. Just to be sure he wasn’t going to die from alcohol poisoning.

He didn’t protest when she dragged him all the way to the corridor, resting all his weight on her. Strangely, it wasn’t as difficult as it should have been. She was used to this, she realized. It certainly wasn’t pleasant but it wasn’t as hard as she had feared it would be.

Of course, she regretted jinxing herself with such a positive thought when she missed the last step and almost tumbled down the stairs. For a second, time seemed to freeze and she didn’t know if she would fall face first or break her neck by rolling all the way downstairs but Haymitch’s weight took the decision for her. They plummeted onwards. She almost bashed her head against the wall – she didn’t think her doctor would have been happy about that but she soon found another pressing matter. Quite literally _pressing_ at that.

Haymitch’s mouth latched on her neck, his hands roaming from her waist to her thighs… He pulled on her leg and it was a reflex to wrap it around him really… His calloused palm ran up the underneath of her thigh, groped her, his other hand was on her breast, his lips left her throat to claim her mouth and his breath was so stinky it cleared her mind. She turned her head away, lowered her leg and dislodged the hands that were so intimately touching her.

“Stop it.” she demanded.

To his credit – and to her relief – he didn’t try to insist. He simply pressed his forehead to her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her waist with a pained whine. She could feel the evident proof of his arousal. It shouldn’t have been as satisfying as it was.

“I miss you.” he spat, the words slurring with each other.

“You miss Johanna.” she corrected, closing her eyes. She hated her already, that woman who left Haymitch so desperate and unhappy. “Come on.” she said, more softly.

He didn’t struggle when she guided him to his bedroom. He tried to slump on the bed as soon as he spotted it but she didn’t let him, nudging him in the en-suite bathroom instead. She tackled the next part with gestures so confident, she was sure she had done it before. _Repeatedly_. She could remember fragments of those instances. Nights when she had dragged him to bed by his ankle because he was a dead weight, nights where his hands groped her while she was trying to help him into bed, nights where she had let him and then pretended she hadn’t enjoyed it…

Ignoring the unpleasant way her nightgown was sticking to her skin – and she _didn’t_ glance down at the brown stain on the light peach fabric, she _didn’t want to know_ what it was – she took off his shoes, peeled of the socks, the shirt and the pants, leaving him in his boxers. He didn’t do anything at all while she undressed him. He remained where she had told him to sit, on the edge of the close lid of the toilet.

He looked a little more coherent now so she forgot about the cold shower – she also didn’t want to have to deal with undressing him _completely_ – and cleaned him up as best as she could with a washcloth and a towel. When she was done, he tried to rest his head against her stomach but she stopped him before he could press his cheek against the rest of his own sick. He pouted, all sad eyes.

“Don’t leave.” he croaked.

“I’m not leaving.” she promised, pulling him to his feet again.

He tripped twice on the way to the bed but she managed to make him lie down. He obviously was an affectionate drunk, he didn’t seem to be able to keep his hands away from her.

“’Don’t want you to leave.” he growled, when she stopped him from hugging her again and pushed on his chest until he was flat on his back. There was a special place in hell for people who copped a feel when other people were drunk, and she was going straight there. She knew it was wrong yet she couldn’t stop herself from spreading her hand on his chest, tracing soothing circles with her thumb and committing the feel of his skin to memory. It seemed to calm him down because he stopped trying to sit to embrace her.

“I just told you I am not leaving.” she whispered. His fingers coiled around her wrist, effectively keeping her hand where it was.

“But you’re going to.” he scorned. “You’re going to remember and you’re going to leave me alone again.”

There was such intensity in his grey eyes, she had trouble swallowing. “No. I won’t. I will stay as long as you need me.”

That was what friends were for after all. And she already knew that, memory or not, there was no way she would leave without making sure his life was back on track. It wasn’t just the children’s job after all.

“Forever then.” he snorted with so much bitterness, it made her heart ache.

“If that is what it takes.” she joked, forcing a smile on her lips. She wouldn’t have to stay forever, the elusive Johanna would come back sooner or later. She had planned on asking one of the children but she never found the courage to do so.

“You hate me.” he mumbled, turning his head away. His fingers tightened their hold on her wrist to the point it was almost painful. “You won’t stay. That’s bullshit.”

“I don’t hate you.” she frowned, brushing his hair out of his face with her free hand. “I would _never_ hate you.”

She didn’t know what he was talking about but she was certain of what she was saying. She didn’t hate Haymitch and she didn’t think she hated him before losing her memories. Those things had always been very clear in her heart : she had loved the children at first sight and she had disliked Gale as soon as her eyes were on him. Her instinct guided her right, it seemed, and she really, _really_ didn’t hate Haymitch.

He snorted again at that and finally let go of her to curl up on his side, his back on her. The dismissal was clear.

She went to take a shower, realizing, too late, that there was no other nightwear packed in her suitcase. He was fast asleep when she tip-toed back in his room, safely wrapped in a towel. She borrowed a shirt from his closet, doubting he would even notice.

She knew she was in deep, _deep_ trouble when she fell asleep her nose buried in the crook of her elbow to better breathe his smell in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So I hope you liked this chapter, please leave a feedback if you did because, you know, reviews feed the muse. 
> 
> I just wanted to clarify a small point : I had a comment from a user on the previous chapter saying they would stop reading because it was just hugely unrealistic that Katniss would accept that Gale would be in charge of her protection. Let’s slide upon the fact that we didn’t see Katniss’ reaction last chapter and go directly to my main point : to me, at the end of MJ, Katniss blames Gale but she doesn’t hate him. She blames him, she will probably always blame him, but she doesn’t hate him the way she hates Snow or Coin. In short, I don’t think she would ever forgive him to the point things between them would go back to what they were before but I do think she would be able, in time, to forgive him enough that she would be able to stand his presence for a certain amount of time. She would certainly not seek him out or enjoy his presence but she could rationalize it, I suppose. Also, I would like to point out that this story takes place two years after the war. It is certainly not long enough for all the wounds to be healed but I do think it’s time enough for Katniss to mature a bit and be a little better in her head so she would eventually come to understand that, in this particular context, Gale’s presence is necessary not only to her safety but to Peeta’s, Haymitch’s and Effie’s. And also, there was never a question that she would accept him back with open arms. I never hinted at that last chapter. She wouldn’t. 
> 
> And lastly, this isn’t a Katniss/Gale or Katniss/Peeta story so those characters, as much as I love them, will be hugely in the background to the hayffie goodness. So… I don’t know what my point is here precisely but maybe that this isn’t the right story if you’re looking for Gale!bashing and Everlark as a main pairing. 
> 
> That’s all =) Sorry for the long explanation. Do leave a comment to tell me your thoughts on the chapter please!


	6. Chapter 6

Papers were spread all around him on the bed and Haymitch was starting to regret his lack of organizational skills. He looked at the mess, sighed and grabbed the glass of whiskey forgotten on the bedside table. He sipped only one mouthful before putting it back down – he certainly _wouldn’t_ get wasted again while Effie was still there, he didn’t remember much of the other night but he knew she had helped him to bed and he just _knew_ his hands tended to wander when he was drunk and she was nearby; it was a small mercy she was too polite to say anything about it the next day. He pulled another report from the clutter of papers and started reading again, wondering about the people who wrote those things.

A few days after his drunken stunt, Gale had showed up at breakfast with the news that Enobaria was missing. Haymitch had immediately called Plutarch who wasn’t so confident it was only a small problem anymore. Yes, it was possible that the victor had gone underground because she feared for her life – Haymitch wouldn’t have put it past her, she had been downright paranoid even before her stay in the Capitol cells – but Beetee was working around the clock to make sure pirate broadcasts couldn’t slip through. The broadcasts were always the same, according to Plutarch : a short message claiming Coin had been murdered and her genius vision of a new Panem spat upon. Paylor’s protections had been reinforced and Haymitch had demanded to see all they had on the terrorist group.

They called themselves _The Loyalists_ – which, as Effie had pointed out, was as unimaginative as it got – and, on paper, didn’t seem very dangerous. The first reports, dating back from about a year, were dismissing them as a secluded and small group that was more inconvenient than dangerous. Obviously, those reports had been dead wrong. The first death attributed to them was Gelinda Shramp, once upon a time escort for District Eight, around the time Haymitch had won, making her a sixty years old lady at the time of her death. She had been poisoned, the first investigation had called it to be an accident – some mix with her pills. The second death, a stylist named Salina Vanderlet, who had worked for District Four and Ten during the Games for almost ten years, had been found hanged in her apartment, although there had been obvious traces of a struggle it had been concluded to be a suicide at the time. But it wasn’t before a former Gamemaker – who had been dabbling in politics right before his death, making it a little bit inconvenient to the government – was found with his wrists slashed opened that people had started connecting the dots with the regular pirate propaganda The Loyalists were trying to broadcast.

The events had been kept from the public eyes but the attention it got them from the government only encouraged The Loyalists to go bigger. The next stylist – and Haymitch recognized the name, he had once worked for Twelve and had been awful at it – had been found riddled with bullets. Same _modus operandi_ for the third escort. They had clearly been executed in the same fashion Coin had the escorts and Gamemakers who had been found guilty killed during the Purge. The two latest victims had both been kidnapped prior to being murdered – probably so they could execute them in a quiet place without raising suspicion – which was coherent with Effie’s story and didn’t bode well for Enobaria.

All in all, they had next to no information on the group aside for their methods and, at the thought of what could have happened to Effie, Haymitch’s blood was running cold.

The profile analyses of the group claimed their main objective was to finish Coin’s work, meaning the Purge, and that only escorts and Gamemakers should be concerned. Haymitch wasn’t so sure about that. Katniss had played it clever with her immunity list and had protected the victors from any potential trial but Coin’s initial intent had been to put them all – or, at least, the ones who hadn’t initially joined Thirteen after the Quell – in front of a judge for collaboration with the enemy.

The creaking of the floorboard made him look up and glance at the clock on the bedside table. The night was still young, just a little past midnight, it was too early for Effie to be having a nightmare – and he hadn’t heard her scream, she _always_ screamed and it _always_ broke his heart. Yet, he could hear the soft padding of slippers along the corridors. She didn’t stop at the bathroom so he put down the report he had been reading.

He had to do a double take when he saw what she was wearing.

“Is that my shirt?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows in open surprise.

She leaned against the doorframe with a small frown. “You put vomit all over my nightgown the other night, I borrowed it.”

He knew he was staring, possibly leering, but he couldn’t help himself. The shirt stopped a little above mid-thighs – longer than some dresses she owned – but there was something about her endless legs and her small body clad in his shirt that made his stomach churn with satisfaction. _Mine_ , a voice whispered in the back of his mind. And she _wasn’t_ , she _truly_ wasn’t, but he enjoyed the fantasy for a few seconds anyway.

“You did the laundry twice since then.” he pointed out with a smirk, wriggling his eyebrows playfully. “You like wearing my clothes, sweetheart?”

“Hardly.” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “It’s warmer than anything I have.” Suddenly, she looked uncertain and he figured it had nothing to do with stealing his clothes. She was chewing on her bottom lip. “Haymitch, it’s very cold.”

“Yeah?” he frowned. He wasn’t cold but, to be fair, he was used to Twelve’s weather. Fall was slowly dying into winter and it was true the temperature had been steadily getting lower. “Maybe the fire died down.” He had added a log before going to bed but he supposed it was possible. “I will check. Go back to bed.”

He was up for a refill of whiskey anyway, his glass was almost empty. He swung his legs off the bed but she remained there, still hesitant.

“No, that’s not what I meant… _I_ am not cold… I…” She winced and Haymitch’s eyes instinctively shot up to the wound on her forehead. They had taken off the stitches two days earlier and there was now a pink line, still a little bit swollen even though the doctor had told them it would eventually fade. She took a deep breath and rushed the words out : “I’m worried about the babies.”

He blinked.

And blinked again.

“Sweetheart, I know they will always be kids in our mind but if you call them babies to their faces, I’m pretty sure even Peeta will try to have you committed.” he stated very plainly.

Annoyance flashed on her face. “Don’t be preposterous, I don’t mean Katniss and Peeta.”

His amusement morphed into a slight concern. “Okay. You know you don’t have any baby, right?”

None that he knew about anyway.

And if there had been any, Plutarch would have known. At least Haymitch _hoped_ he would have known, otherwise… Well… The possibility wasn’t appealing and Haymitch dismissed it. There was enough drama without adding a missing – or worse – kid somewhere There was always the possibility that the former Gamemaker had simply omitted to inform them, Plutarch tended to pick and chose what he told them.

“The kittens, Haymitch!” she finally blurted out with irritation. “I mean the kittens!”

He was afraid his sigh of relief didn’t escape her notice but she was too busy glaring to comment on it. She folded her arms in front of her chest and stared just like she used to do when she wanted him to do something he really, _really_ didn’t want to do but always ended up doing anyway. He had learned, in time, that it was quicker to cave when she was in one of those moods.

He didn’t need to ask what she wanted, it was written all over her face. She wanted the kittens inside. He _knew_ he should have taken care of the little devils while she was sleeping. He should have relocated them to the meadow where kids would have found them and brought them to their unsuspecting parents.

“They have fur.” he argued for the sake of it.

“They’re babies.” she pouted. “ _Please_.”

Her eyes were imploring and they had always been his downfall anyway.

He heaved out a long suffering sigh. “Fine. Bring them in. But they’re _not_ staying.”

 _Wishful thinking_ , he mused.

“There’s no light outside.” she pointed out with another wince.

It took him a few seconds to remember her uneasiness in the dark and he wondered – all the while looking for his slippers and putting on a shirt – if she had only bothered to ask his permission to bring monsters in _his_ _own house_ because she was too scared to go out by herself at night.

“You’re a pain in my ass.” he told her very honestly.

To be fair, it _was_ pretty cold outside and he realized some of the kittens would probably not have lasted the night if she hadn’t insisted on getting them inside. It was very dark and he remained close to the outer wall of the house; she was following, clutching the back of his shirt in her hand like a frightened child. When they reached the clutter of planks that the cats were using as shelter, he didn’t pause to think or reflect on the weak mewling. He grabbed the cold balls of fur and placed them in her arms before trudging to the pen to check on the geese. They were all safely in their own shelter, huddled together, comfortably nestled in the warmest corner.

“Haymitch.” Effie called, through chattering teeth. She was having problems holding on to all the cats. He ushered her inside before she could catch her death. They should have put coats on. He nudged the kitchen door close behind them with his foot and immediately put milk on the stove while she dropped her bundle of kittens on the kitchen table.

He did a quick inventory. Brown one – purring and nudging her hand with its head as if it was a crime she wasn’t already petting it – tabby one – sniffing around with a displeased expression – black and white one – that one simply sniffed once or twice, rolled on itself and then slumped down, placing its tail over its nose and going back to sleep as if everything was a great inconvenience – and a black one – it jumped on the brown one, clearly jealous not to be petted.

“The white one is missing.” she said, turning to him with a pleading expression.

 _Of course_ , one of the damned cat was missing. It was just his sort of luck.  

“I’m not going to look for the _bloody_ cat.” he declared.

Obviously, a few minutes later, while the kittens were gorging on lukewarm milk on his kitchen table, he was back in the yard with Effie, making ridiculous noises in hope it would attract the white monstrosity.

Effie never wandered too far from him but she wasn’t clutching his shirt anymore. He was investigating a suspiciously wriggling bush – could have been the wind, could have been a bloodthirsty cat – when she shrieked in pure fright.

He spun around, saw the nose of the gun in her face before he spotted anything else and pulled out the knife he always kept on him nowadays. It occurred to him as he rushed to her that if the man had intended to kill her, she would have been dead long before he even reached her. It wasn’t until he had pushed her behind him that he realized the gun belonged to Gale Hawthorne’s.

“What are you _doing_ out there in the middle of the night?” the boy spat. “I could have _shot_ you.”

“Shoot me in my own _fucking_ backyard?” he growled back, putting his knife away.

Effie’s forehead pressed against his back, between his shoulder blades. He could feel the quick puffs of her breath through the shirt, the fabric was bundled in her hands again.

“You shouldn’t be out after dark.” Gale snapped. “I gave orders to shoot intruders on sight.”

“Well, your orders are stupid.” he replied. “I’m not an intruder. Nobody is intruding, we’re looking for a cat.”

“A cat?” the kid frowned. “You don’t have a cat.”

“I fancy having a cat tonight.” he retorted. “That’s a problem?”

Gale shook his head and glared at him. “I don’t know what you’re playing at but don’t come complaining to me if your girlfriend gets killed because you’re too busy looking for cats to follow the safety protocols.”

He turned on his heels and marched out into the night.

“ _Asshole_.” Haymitch muttered. Worst was, he kind of liked the kid.

He turned around as soon as he was sure Gale was gone and wrapped his arms around Effie. She was shaking badly. “Let’s get you back inside.” It wasn’t quite a suggestion – because Gale _did_ have a point – but Effie didn’t move, she clutched at his shirt and buried her face in his shoulder.

“There were men with guns.” she whispered. “ _Before_.” He wasn’t sure if the before referred to her accident with the car or the war. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know either. She pressed further against him, seeking warmth and comfort or maybe just safety. “They hurt me.”

“Nobody is going to hurt you ever again.” he swore, dropping a kiss on top of her mane of blond curls. “Over my dead body.”

She shivered and he didn’t wait for her to acknowledge his words to guide her back into the kitchen. The kittens were still on the table, drinking all the milk they could hold. It figured those things would be gluttons. He helped her to a chair and crouched next to her, worried about her glassy eyes.

“You’re okay, sweetheart?” he asked.

She nodded but her gaze was lost in a distant past, either memories she couldn’t quite access or images directly coming from her nightmares. He dropped another kiss on her head, breathing in her fruit-scented shampoo before heading back out.

He walked back to the clutter of planks, he called out for the stupid kitten… Nothing worked. After five minutes of freezing his ass off outside, he figured the cat was either gone or dead and that he didn’t fancy getting shot by trigger happy soldiers for it. Of course, that was when something jumped on his shoulder from the top of the pen.

He didn’t quite know how the kitten had managed to hop up there or what its intent had been when jumping on him but Haymitch grabbed the unruly monster by the loose skin at the back of his neck and held him right in front of him, at a safe distance from his face. Far from being afraid, the cat was purring, his back legs comically drawn up and his tail flicking left and right against its belly.

“You’re lucky I like her.” he informed the kitten. “I would have fed you to the geese.”

The stupid thing only blinked and continued to purr in response.

“Oh, you found him!” Effie sighed in relief when he entered the kitchen. She looked better. She wasn’t shivering anymore even though her hands were still a little shaky, he noticed, as she petted both the tabby and the brown one at once.

“Yeah.” he unnecessarily confirmed, dropping the monster with its brothers and sisters.

It didn’t care at all for its family, it went right to the plate of milk. There wasn’t much left and it had no qualm in putting its paws in the dish to better access the food. Haymitch shook his head, wondering how long it would take Effie to rant at the mess they would make.

She handed him a mug of tea. He nodded his thanks, grateful for the warmth. He watched her as she sipped her own drink and played with the kittens, obviously delighted. The brown one was clearly her favorite because it couldn’t stop asking for cuddles. The tabby was a close second, it hoped on her lap and apparently decided it was a good spot to spend the night. As for the black one and the black and white, they were sleeping in a heap of fur and limbs.

He had one of those moments of perfect clarity he hated.

First, he realized the kittens would go exactly nowhere despite the half-cooked plans he had been plotting to have them adopted the following day.

Then, he realized that anything that could put such a smile on her face was very welcome to stay as long as possible.

And finally, and he didn’t know why that one took him so much by surprise, he realized he was still hopelessly in love with her, even if it had been two years since she had made it very clear he could take up his clumsy suggestions at trying something and shove them up his ass because any feelings she could have sported for him had died in the cells he had abandoned her to.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

He took a mouthful of tea to hide his unwelcome moment of weakness and shrugged it off. She stared at him a few seconds longer and went back to her cats. The white monster was done eating and was now busy licking its paws clean of milk. She tried to pet it but it lifted on its back legs and kind of hovered there, front legs ready to strike, claws out.

Haymitch tapped it on the nose. It made it fall back on its four legs.

“She’s the one feeding you.” he told the kitten – and he would _deny_ talking to a kitten if anyone asked. “Be nice or you’re going back outside.”

The kitten sneezed – or huffed, he wasn’t sure – and, clearly dismissing Haymitch’s advice, started wriggling its butt before attacking his hand. It was playing, that much was clear, but still, its little teeth were painful so Haymitch simply pinned it to the table. It was small enough that one hand was enough for that. Taking that for another game, the kitten started devising ways to escape his hold. It managed but Haymitch immediately pinned it down again. The thing was having a blast.

He was standing next to Effie’s chair and he tensed briefly when she leaned against him, her head nestled neatly against his side.

“Look at you two playing.” she laughed quietly. “You are so _cute_. I think that one is yours, Haymitch.”

“You wanted them, you deal with them.” he grunted. “No shared custody.”

She hummed but he knew, without having to look, there was a knowing smile on her lips. “What should we name him? Snow?”

“Let’s not.” he snorted although the little monster certainly looked vicious. “It’s white, it’s fluffy. Let’s name it Vodka.” He nodded at the brown one that was rolling on its back, happily letting Effie pet his tummy and purring as loudly as his ancient coffee machine. “That one’s Whiskey.”

“Certainly not.” She clucked her tongue. “We aren’t naming our cats after spirits.”

There was something in the _our cats_ that left his mouth slightly parched. It implied she would stay far much longer than he thought she would. Eventually she would remember and then…

“I think I had a cat when I was a child.” she said, standing straighter. He immediately missed the warmth of her head against his side. “Yes… A Persian. With a blue ribbon. His name was Mitten.”

“That’s a terrible name.” he declared.

“Yes…” she laughed. “Mother thought so too.” Her laughter slowly died down. “She sent him away when cats weren’t in fashion anymore.”

She remained silent and he didn’t know what to respond to that aside for the fact that it clearly showed poor parenting skills on her mother’s part.

“Well, those ones are all yours.” he shrugged at long last. “But that one’s name is Vodka.”

The white kitten had finally managed to catch his hand but let go immediately after, exhausted. He sniffed around for a few seconds and then joined the two other cats sleeping on the table, nesting around the black and white one.

“Then we’re naming this one Mahogany.” She pointed to the brown one that had finally gone to sleep too.

He nodded to the tabby. “Moonshine.”

Her lips quirked with amusement and she pointed to the black one. “Silk.”

“Okay, then the last one is Whiskey.” he shrugged. “We need a cat named Whiskey.”

“He doesn’t look like whiskey.” she refuted. “No, we should call him…” She bit her bottom lip and frowned in deep thought. “Hope.”

“Hope?” he snorted. “You see me with a cat named Hope?”

“You have a cat named Silk.” she argued. “Why couldn’t you have a cat named Hope?”

“Because hope isn’t my _forte_ , Princess.” he retorted.

“I noticed.” she replied, carefully picking up the tabby – Moonshine – from her lap and placing it with the others. “It is precisely why you could use the daily reminder.” She stood up, plucked the empty mug from his hand and placed it in the sink with her own. He knew she was mulling something over. He could tell. So he waited, watching her flick her blond hair over her shoulder while she washed the mugs.

He was glad she had given up on wearing headscarves. He liked her hair like that : all wild and curly. He didn’t get why she insisted on straightening it or twisting it in complicated buns. Her everyday style was by far better than the wigs but he liked her best natural. She was beautiful, it was a shame she didn’t see it until she was all dolled up.

“Do you know what happened to my family?” she asked at long last, not looking at him in the eyes.

He supposed that after her young adult years, she had just recovered her childhood memories. He dreaded the day she would finally remember the Games and what came after. His unintended betrayal.

“They’re dead.” he said, very simply. There was no use in trying to soften that kind of blows.

“During the war?” she insisted.

“Yeah.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, knowing what would come next. “It wasn’t your fault.”

She relaxed into his chest and turned until she was hugging him again. They did that a lot, he thought, to the point it was familiar by now. He loved it. The feeling of her body in his arms. They _fitted_.

“Haymitch…” she whispered.

She wasn’t sobbing or trying to keep the tears at bay like he had feared she would. His name was a sigh on her lips, a prayer almost, and he could only hold her closer, _tighter_ , wishing he never had to let go.

He was afraid of what would happen when she’d finally pack her bags and leave. He was afraid he would never get used to a silent empty house again. He was afraid he would miss her so much he would burst.

The period directly after Snow’s official surrender had been one of the worst of his life – perhaps not as bad as after his family was killed but it was a close second. Katniss had been in an incubator, burned down to almost a crisp, Prim’s death was on him because _he_ _hadn’t_ _checked_ on the teenager, all those Capitol kids dead and he could make an educated guess as to who had really given the order, Peeta had been half mad still, Finnick was dead, Annie pregnant, Johanna _so_ furious… And Effie… Effie, his only silver lining in all that chaos – because he had been certain they would only find her corpse and he had almost leaped with joy before slumping in a chair in pure relief when Plutarch had told him they had found her _alive_ – had quickly turned on him.

She had clutched to him at first. During the first few days, she had been so confused and delirious… She had asked, _begged_ , for him and the kids without rest. She would grip his hand with her chipped nails and tell him he needed to protect the kids again and again. No matter how many times he had told her they were safe – relatively speaking – she would always go back to that : _protect Peeta and Katniss. Protect them, Haymitch._ Sometimes, at night, he could still hear her like a voice-over to his nightmare.

He had been right by her side all the time he could spare from Katniss and Peeta. He hadn’t slept or eaten much during those weeks but he hadn’t even cared because all three of them were alive – broken, yes, but _alive_ – and it had almost been enough for him to accept the rest. Until she had started asking questions.

He didn’t know who had filled her in. Perhaps it had been Plutarch, perhaps it had been Johanna or one of the rebels Coin had sent to interrogate her despite his interdictions and threats. One day, he had shown up in her hospital room and she had been acting weird. She had asked him directly what she wanted to know and she hadn’t liked the answers. He had been honest from the start : yes, he had intended to leave her behind but only because Plutarch had sworn she would have been safer in the Capitol, protected by her citizenship, than in Thirteen where an escort would never have been accepted. That part and, he supposed, the rational reasoning behind it, she had granted with a mere flinch.

She could have forgiven that, he thought, but not the rest.

It was the rescue mission, she couldn’t swallow.

She hadn’t been on that list and they had left her there. The rescue team had passed right by her cell, had picked up the victors from down the hall and had left without listening to her pleading or her attempts at explaining who she was. There had been other prisoners down there, asking to be freed, and rationally, Haymitch guessed that Boggs had to make a tough call. It was complicated enough going in and out without being seen with three prisoners, never mind an army of them.

But if she had been on the list…

 _That_ , she couldn’t forgive.

He had never told her it was Katniss’ list because he didn’t see the point. He had never thought to warn Boggs about her before the rescue team left. He had had no clue as to where she was. He hadn’t known. Truth be told, he had never thought she would be kept there with the others. And she had paid the price for his lack of foresight.

She had a right to hate him.

He hated himself most of the time.

But now, her memory was clean of that. Now, she smiled at him, touched him, held him, laughed and bickered with him like nothing had happened…

He had tried to tell her, right before she had kicked him out of her room for the last time… He had tried to make her understand that he had spent all those months of sobriety pining after her so badly he had finally understood that what he had mistaken for a silly infatuation, a crush at most, ran so much deeper… She hadn’t wanted to listen.

He had picked up a bottle for the first time in months that day.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” he whispered, burying his face in her neck.

He was very sure of it.

She would leave eventually and there would be no more pacing himself with alcohol. He would plummet once more into heavy drinking, wishing he would finally manage to poison himself, entertaining so many dark thoughts that…

“Don’t say that.” she chided him sternly. Her arms tightened around his waist. “Don’t _ever_ say that.”

She lifted her head to glare at him and she was so beautiful – so _fucking_ beautiful – with her pursed lips and irritated blue eyes, it wasn’t a conscious decision to lean in. Their noses bumped and she tilted her head in an instinctive invitation he was only too happy to accept. He brushed his lips against hers, once, twice… Each feather-like touches sent a jolt of pleasure down to his groin. There was no doubt in his mind that he wanted her – there never had been really – but it was so much more than a physical desire, it was frightening him.

“Haymitch…” she sighed. It was half a whine and half a plea. A plea to stop playing, he thought.

He didn’t know how long they stood there. It probably only lasted seconds but it felt like forever in a nutshell to him.

Her lips parted but, before he could close the small gap between their mouths, she drew back, turned her head away and closed her eyes. She didn’t break their embrace but Haymitch was confused.

“This is getting problematic.” she stated very plainly. “Was it always so problematic between us?”

He almost laughed at that one. “Problematic doesn’t cover it, Princess.”

“I figured.” Her hands clenched at his back once and then her arms fell back to her side. Haymitch didn’t let go. He wasn’t sure he could have even if he had wanted to. She looked up at him again, her eyes were earnest but her face was guarded. “I do not think this is a good idea. It might seem tempting now but I am very sure you will change your mind after a while.”

“Change _my_ mind?” he snorted. “I tried that a thousand times, sweetheart. Never worked out.”

He tried not to sound too bitter but he could see she picked up on it anyway.

“You’re clearly going through a tough sentimental situation and I am not in possession of all my memories.” she argued, coiling her fingers around his forearms and gently tugging until he finally let go of her. Her hands slid down until she could clasp his. “I am extremely attracted to you and the reciprocity is obvious but… Giving in to that will put your life upside down, Haymitch, and as for mine… Who knows?” She shrugged. “I might even have a boyfriend I don’t remember about.”

Those words were the last straw as far as he was concerned.

She was right, of course, beginning anything while she was still recovering would feel too much like taking advantage. Talk about a _tough sentimental situation_ … She was all three, alright.

Still, the idea of her with another man… He snatched his hands away and went straight to the cupboard where she had hidden the liquor from sight.

“Haymitch.” she winced.

“You’re right.” he spat. “You should keep your distance, Trinket. Better for everyone involved.”

He didn’t trust himself to do that. Not when she was in his kitchen, in the middle of the night, wearing his shirt and claiming the kittens were _theirs_.

He left the room without a backward glance, strangling the neck of the bottle. He flopped back on his bed, not caring much about the paper he was crumpling, and drank. He stopped only when he was so wasted he couldn’t see straight. It wasn’t enough though. He curled on his side, feeling sick for so many reasons, and didn’t even startled when something jumped on the bed.

The thing was lucky alcohol made his reflexes sluggish.

That white kitten was a stubborn one, Haymitch had to give him that. Either it had climbed the stairs on its own or Effie had brought them all up to sleep in her room but Vodka seemed only interested in annoying him. It sniffed around the clutter of papers, scratched a particularly dull report and crouched to pee on it.

Haymitch should probably have minded sleeping in a cat peed bed but he was past caring and the report had been so bad to begin with he couldn’t quite fault the kitten’s tastes. When it was done, Vodka scratched some more and then climbed up Haymitch’s legs, walked up his torso and stomped on his face before finally settling above his head, on his pillow, where it started licking itself clean with many annoying noises and the occasional purring.

Still, Haymitch found he didn’t mind the company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! And now I am going to the beach so don't hesitate to leave feedback for me to read when I come back ;)


	7. Chapter 7

The back door swung open and Katniss came in without bothering to knock as was her habit. Effie barely glanced up from the dress she was customizing, too annoyed to even remind her about proper manners. Her nerves were so frayed, to be honest, that her own manners were lacking and she only replied to the girl’s greeting in a quiet voice.

“Is everything alright?” Katniss frowned, her grey eyes cataloguing the sewing kit Effie had emptied on the table as well as the pieces of fabric she was determined to put on the dress – her clothes weren’t at all the quality she was used to and given the state of her purse, she was starting to think she wasn’t as rich as she used to be either. “What are you doing?”

Effie assumed it was a rhetorical question and did her share of cataloguing. One, Katniss never came around in the mornings. Two, she wasn’t dressed for trekking either.

“No stroll in the woods today?” she asked, a tad ironic.

“I don’t stroll, I hunt.” the girl scowled. “And Gale is busy which means I’m not allowed.” And what she thought about those restrictions was plainly written on her face. She tossed a parcel on the kitchen counter. “Cheese buns. Peeta asked me to drop them by.”

“Thank you. I’m surprised Gale is too busy for you.” she observed, careful not to let the reproach ring out too much. “He seems keen on spending as much time with you as he can.”

Katniss’ face became sullen. “We’re friends. That’s it. I chose Peeta.”

“Did you?” she hummed.

The girl narrowed her eyes. “For someone with no memories, you’re meddling an awful lot.”

“I love you, dear, but I also care about Peeta.” Effie replied. “I would hate to see him hurt and since no one around here seems willing to voice out what we are all thinking…”

“I don’t care what you’re all thinking.” Katniss spat. “You’re all wrong. Everything is very clear. We’ve all moved on. Gale’s a friend. Sort of. End of the story.”

Effie pursed her lips, not at all pleased with that answer but focused on her sewing, knowing there was no point insisting.

“So?” Katniss challenged, leaning against the kitchen counter with her arms crossed. “What put you in that kind of mood?”

Well… Almost kissing a man she might or might not be hopelessly in love with against all reason when she was still missing years of memories and he was involved with someone else could explain her bad mood, she thought. She had barely slept the night before, too troubled by what had happened – or rather _not_ happened – and by Haymitch’s reaction to it all. He hadn’t even come when she had woken up screaming and she hadn’t dared hunt him down in his room. He had barely grunted an acknowledgement to her polite greeting that morning. She was _entitled_ to her bad mood, Effie concluded.

“Nothing.” she lied with a bright smile that didn’t fool the girl for one second.

Katniss rolled her eyes. “Alright, where’s Haymitch?”

“Sulking on the couch.” Effie snorted. And probably nursing a hangover – but she didn’t say that out loud.

Just then, the tabby kitten jumped on the table, knocking over most of her sewing kit. It spotted the thread roll, saw an opportunity and took it. She clicked her tongue at the cat and rescued the thread before it was turned into a toy.

“What’s that?” The girl’s eyebrows lifted up in obvious surprise even as she outstretched a hand to scratch the kitten behind the ears.

“Moonshine.” she replied. “Haymitch named her, as you can guess.”

Katniss’ lips twitched in amusement but she was clearly puzzled. “Since when does Haymitch have a cat?”

Since she had made him step outside into the middle of the night to bring them all back in… Since they had embraced in the kitchen and pressed against each other so tight… Since the characteristic smell of liquor, cheap soap and faint sweat had made her mouth go dry and her stomach clench…

Lost in that little corner of her brain that enjoyed replaying that fantasy again and again, Effie probably took too long to respond because Katniss sighed and left the counter to disappear in the direction of the living-room.

She had no way to see what was going on in the other room but the walls weren’t that thick and she heard everything anyway.

There was a moment of shocked silence – and Effie could perfectly imagine how disturbing the image of Haymitch sprawled on the couch covered by kittens who had obviously decided he was the best mattress could be when you weren’t prepared, she had known about the cats and she still had to do a double-take when she had walked past – and then Katniss’ laughter rang out through the house.

“Can’t you _ever_ do things the normal way, Haymitch?” the girl mocked. “First a gaggle, now what? A pack of cats? Couldn’t you just get _one_ of each? What’s next? A cows herd? Are you opening a zoo?”

“They’re Trinket’s cats.” came the irritated reply.

“Sure, they are.” Katniss retorted, clearly humoring him. “’Cause Effie would name her cat _Moonshine_.”

“She’s a pain in my ass and so are her _bloody_ cats.” Haymitch shot back, purposely loud. She was meant to hear that, she figured.

And despite her rule about a lady not raising her voice in the house, she found herself shouting back. “Well, I feel the same way about you and your geese!” Silence was the only answer she got and she turned to Moonshine who was still eyeing the small roll of thread with great interest. “This man is impossible.” she told the cat. It yawned in reply. Obviously, Moonshine had better tastes than the rest of the kittens. It didn’t think Haymitch was a good enough pillow to sleep on but her lap was adequate. It settled down with a lot of purring.

“O _kay_.” Katniss sighed in the other room. “Care to tell me what happened?”

“Told you. She’s a pain.” Haymitch grumbled, so low she had trouble hearing the words. Not that she was listening. She was done with him until he stopped acting like a child. His voice rang out once again, a little more inquisitive. “What are you doing here anyway? Your date dumped you?”

“What do you all have with me and Gale this morning?” Katniss growled in reply. “We’re not even really friends anymore. Would you drop it?”

“Just checking, sweetheart.” Haymitch retorted. “’Cause you know, _I_ will be the one picking up the pieces if you fuck this up again.”

Effie could perfectly imagine Katniss’ scowl and she was sure the girl’s answer was sharp and irritated, bordering on rude. She didn’t hear it. The back door swung open, making her jump upright. The kitten fell from her lap with a threatening hiss and strutted away, tail high, clearly vexed. Effie didn’t have time to ask what was going on. Gale slammed the door shut, grabbed her arm and dragged her to the living-room.

Haymitch was on his feet, obviously alerted by the loud noises in the kitchen. He frowned when he saw the way Gale was holding her but the soldier released her at once.

“They found Enobaria.” Gale announced. “She’s dead. The Village is on lockdown until further notice.”

“Peeta.” Katniss immediately said, taking a step in the direction the door. “He’s at the bakery, he…”

“I sent someone.” Gale cut her off, raising a hand to prevent her from leaving. “The Village is secured but I would like it better if everyone could stay in one place.”

Haymitch shrugged and sat back down. Vodka immediately jumped on the couch again and started play-attacking his hand. He tried to push it away but the kitten was stubborn and he ended up pinning it to the couch until it wriggled free and started the game all over again. Katniss’ gaze was bemused.

“I will make tea.” Effie declared.

She made a lot of tea in the following hours. When Peeta arrived, he was welcomed with sighs of relief and a rare public kiss from Katniss that made his cheeks flush red and sent Haymitch chortling in his spiked mug. Gale excused himself, leaving them in the company of the closed-mouth soldier who usually guarded Effie.

The waiting was awful.

They turned the TV on but there was nothing to watch except silly soap operas and movies reruns. No one in that room wanted to watch the numerous reality shows on air. There was no mention whatsoever about The Loyalists or Enobaria’s death in the news.

Gale came back around noon while Effie was attempting to cook under Peeta’s close supervision and Katniss and Haymitch were busy teasing her about her lack of culinary skills. According to them, the only thing she could achieve in the kitchen was boiling water. She refused to answer to their taunts.

“You got news, boy?” Haymitch immediately asked, sitting straighter on his chair. He had tried to call Plutarch all morning but to no avail. The Gamemaker was in an emergency meeting with the President and couldn’t be reached.

“Nothing from the Capitol.” Gale said. “But I’ve got news from Four. Mason requested a transfer. They will be here by late afternoon at the latest.”

It was difficult to tell if the soldier was pleased or not by that. Effie was confused. _Mason_ … The name was familiar but like so many things she couldn’t exactly pinpoint why.

“That’s good.” Katniss offered, nodding to herself in the silence.

“Yeah.” Haymitch approved. “Good of Jo to finally take her head out of her ass.”

Jo…

 _Johanna Mason_. The name came back out of nowhere and left her with an uneasy feeling. She didn’t think she liked her very much. Yet again, if she was Haymitch’s Johanna then she probably had her reasons.

She watched him like an hawk all the rest of the day but aside from frowning at her and lifting an inquisitive eyebrow at some moments, he didn’t show any sign of being in any way impacted by the news of Johanna – and she surmised, their son, imminent arrival. If anything, Katniss was more vocal, stating several times that she would be pleased to see Johanna and Annie again.

Effie didn’t know who Annie was and she didn’t feel like asking.

She was standing next to the window when the slick black car stopped in the street just when night was about to fall. A soldier climbed out, quickly followed by a woman with flowing brown hair, a sleeping little boy in her arms. She looked soft and lost, her green eyes darting everywhere around her.

By the time the second woman stepped out of the car, everyone but Effie had exited the house to welcome the newcomers. She watched, with a sickening detachment, as the dark-haired woman shot something witty at Haymitch who only responded with an eye roll and a smirk. Seconds later, they were hugging.

Effie walked away from the window at that point, forced a bright fake smile on her lips and finally walked out of the house. Being jealous was no excuse for being rude.

Johanna – or, at least, she was very sure the dark-haired one was Johanna – had moved on to greeting the children, leaving Haymitch to give an one-arm hug to who she guessed to be Annie. He brushed a hand against the boy’s cheek but the child was deeply asleep so he stepped away quickly. Effie wondered where they would put the child, there was no toddler’s room in Haymitch’s house. She wondered why that was, how his and Johanna’s relationship worked exactly.

“Effie!” Annie exclaimed. Her smile was soft and pleased and Effie found herself genuinely smiling back, not even trying to resist the awkward hug the young woman gave her. “You haven’t called in a while.”

Effie was taken aback by that. “I…”

“Trinket’s nuts.” Johanna cut in, irritation lacing her voice. “I’ve told you twice today already.”

“Oh…” Annie tilted her head, her eyes still unfocused. “Oh, yes, you did.”

Johanna rolled her eyes and shrugged for the others’ benefits. “It’s not a good day.”

By which she meant that Annie wasn’t all there, she supposed, as Katniss ushered Annie and the child in the house, Peeta and Gale following close behind. Haymitch lingered and, thinking that he might want to have a word with his girlfriend – or whatever Johanna was to him – Effie started walking after the children. Johanna’s hand coiling around her upper arm stopped her. The woman looked her up and down.

“How is throwing yourself under a car a _fucking_ good idea in that tiny brain of yours?” Johanna spat.

“Play nice.” Haymitch growled.

Neither of the women even glanced at him, too busy glaring at each other. That settled that, Effie thought. She truly disliked her.

“Please, excuse me.” Effie hissed, with a perfect smile and a polite tone.

It only made Johanna snort with obvious amusement at her discomfort. Still, Effie tugged her arm free and turned on her heels.

“So bitchy.” Johanna cackled at her back.

She refused to dignify that with a reply. She walked back inside calmly. Nobody paid her any attention, too busy doting on the little boy who was now awake and sleepily rubbing his eyes. Of course, the child was delighted when the first thing he spotted was Silk who was nonchalantly spread in front of the fireplace – the other cats had scattered away and, perhaps, that had been wise.

“Kitty!” the boy exclaimed in delight.  

Effie slipped away to the kitchen, unseen and forgotten. It was clear from the easy chit-chat that Katniss, Peeta, Annie and Gale all knew each other. She didn’t feel she had a place in that reunion. She heard the front door close a while later, after almost a half hour of heavy thinking on her part coupled with staring at the empty backyard through the window. The sounds coming from the living-room were joyful, almost at odds with the context, it was like a friendly reunion.

“Why are you sulking in there?”

She didn’t turn away from the window, finding it easier to stare outside, at the far edge of the geese pen, than to face Haymitch.

“He’s cute.” she said.

“Who?”

She could hear the frown in his voice.

“The boy.” she whispered. She hadn’t caught his name. She hadn’t particularly tried to either.

“Yeah, yeah… Finn’s cute.” Haymitch grumbled, waving that away. “Look, if it’s about last night… I don’t want to talk about it anymore so let’s agree it never happened.”

She swallowed hard. It was probably for the best though. The only reasonable line of conduct.

She cleared her throat. “Do you want me to move out? I’m sure the children…”

“No.” he interrupted her just like the last time she had ventured the question although he seemed to quickly changed his mind. “If you’re so desperate to leave just pack your bags.”

“I’m not _desperate_ to leave, as you say.” she snapped. “I just think given the situation it would probably be best. Aren’t you lacking a guestroom for the child?”

Assuming Johanna would share his bedroom, her room was the only other possibility…

“They’re not staying here.” Haymitch replied. “They will take one of the empty houses.”

“Even Johanna and the boy?” she asked, surprised.

She finally turned around. Haymitch looked just as lost as she felt.

“The kid’s staying with his mother.” he said slowly, clearly trying to puzzle out what was going on in her mind. “And I’m not going to kick you out to house Jo.” He smirked. “Even if she likes to walk around naked. You should try that, sweetheart.”

He wriggled his eyebrows but the joke was tentative and the smugness was forced. He was trying to get their easiness back, she figured.

She didn’t answer at once and his smirk fell off. He went straight to the cupboard and poured himself a glass of the disgusting red wine she thought tasted appalling. He put the cork back in with an abrupt gesture.

“So?” he challenged, his voice frosty. “You’re going or staying?”

She could tell by the way he was staring at the bottom of his glass that he was expecting her to leave.

“I don’t understand.” she said very plainly. “Don’t you want to spend time with your son?”

The hand that was holding the glass froze halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“Your _son_.” she hissed. She went to close the door, not wanting anyone in the living-room to hear them. She didn’t want any misunderstandings. “It is obvious he has been away for some time… Don’t you want to spend time with him and your…” She didn’t know what word to use. “Johanna.” she finished lamely.

Grey eyes studied her for several long seconds. First his mouth twitched, then he snorted and after that… She had never seen him laugh that much before. He was in hysterics. He dragged a chair from the table and flopped down on it, hiding his face in one hand and wrapping his other arm around his stomach.

“I fail to see what is so funny.” she scowled.

“ _You_.” he panted after some time. “You’re so _stupid_ , Princess.”

“There is no need for name calling.” she huffed, folding her arms.

He looked up at her, eyes shining with mirth. “Finn is Finnick and Annie’s son. And Johanna…” He shook his head. “How did you even get that idea into your pretty head?”

“But you said… You said…” she stammered. “You said she wasn’t the only one responsible for the boy and that she was stupid to think you would sleep with me…”

“And from _that_ you got that I had a wife and a son hidden somewhere?” he chuckled, watching her with fondness. “Never go into detective work, sweetheart.”

She pursed her lips and tilted her head, annoyed at being made fun of. “You shouldn’t mock an amnesiac. It’s bad form.”

“If the amnesiac insists on being stupid…” he taunted.

“You’re insufferable.” she huffed.

“So you say.” he smirked, grabbing the glass discarded on the counter.

She glared but he went on smirking and that _bloody_ half-smile of him was doing strange things to her stomach. Perhaps her conclusions about him and Johanna had been far-fetched. Perhaps she had wanted a reason not to get more involved with him. Perhaps she had wanted an excuse…

“Get up.” she ordered, walking closer. He looked up at her with a small frown, the smirk faltering. She snatched the glass away from his hand and placed it back on the counter before repeating again. “Get _up_.”

He didn’t obey. Instead, he swallowed and avoided her eyes. “Don’t play with fire, sweetheart.”

It was a bit too late for that kind of advice.

“Fire… A bit pretentious of you, isn’t it?” she teased.

Her arrogant grin disappeared when he _did_ stand up, so close he was very much in her space.

“Walk away, Trinket.” he warned. His breath rolled on her lips. It was a reflex to lick them and it was probably a reflex for his eyes to dart to her mouth. “Walk away.” It was almost pleading now yet she still stepped forward, there was no space left between them, no pretense possible as to what they were doing. He closed his eyes. “Effie…”

She pressed her lips against his softly.

His hands shot to her waist, one glided to the small of her back the other one remained on her side, bundled the fabric of her dress in his fist.

“Effie…” he whispered again. His kiss took the form of her name, his mouth moved over hers, slowly at first, almost reverently… And then… She couldn’t have said how and why it changed but change it did. The kiss became frantic, almost desperate. It was as if they couldn’t get enough of each other, as if they were living on borrowed time… Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulled him closer. She needed him closer, much, _much_ closer…

They gasped for air and his mouth latched at her throat, sucking and nibbling, the stubble scraped the soft skin of her neck. She threw her head back and would have lost her balance if his hands hadn’t steadied her. He nudged her back until she was pressed against the counter, his hands grabbed her under her thighs, lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, their lips found each other again. It was going too fast but she didn’t have it in her to stop it. His hands were roaming on her body…

“Haymitch…” she sighed or whimpered – she wasn’t sure anymore.

The door opened abruptly and without any sort of warning.

They all froze.

Effie could do nothing but blink, trying to fight her lust, her fingers still tangled in Haymitch’s hair, her legs still wrapped around his waist. Haymitch’s left hand was very much under her dress, on her upper thigh, and his right one was coiled around her neck. There was no denying what had been taking place. No one even tried.

Katniss gaped, stared, and then finally closed her mouth.

“Bleach.” the girl muttered. “I need bleach.”

She turned around and disappeared back in the direction of the living-room, announcing loudly that drinks would have to wait.

“We should…” Haymitch mumbled awkwardly.

“Yes.” Effie agreed quickly, letting go of his waist and using his shoulders to hop from the counter. She couldn’t quite bring herself to step away though. “Was that our first kiss?”

It seemed like a stupid question. Given the way she had been attracted to him from the start, she very much doubted they could have worked together for years without the tension breaking out now and then.

“The first that really counts.” he shrugged, watching her closely.

She supposed he was waiting to see if she remembered anything. He seemed so afraid of her lost memories sometimes…

She smiled and smoothed his creased shirt, very much copping a feel while she was at it. “Alright then.”

He didn’t smile back, his face was guarded again. “Effie…”

He didn’t have time to go further than that. Johanna appeared at the door, her eyes hardening when she took in the state of disarray of Effie’s clothes.

“We’re thirsty.” she said. “Bring out the booze, Haymitch.”

Horrified by how bad a hostess she was being, Effie hurried in the living-room to ask who wanted what. But she didn’t leave fast enough not to hear Johanna’s hissed warning.

“I told you not to mess with her.”

It wasn’t enough to put a damper on Effie’s mood but it certainly spiked her curiosity…

What had she forgotten?


	8. Chapter 8

“I told you not to mess with her.”

Johanna was glaring and Haymitch glared right back, snatching the forgotten glass of wine from the kitchen counter and downing it in one go. It was awful. And it did nothing to cool him down.

“Not now.” he spat, turning sideways under the pretence of pouring himself another drink, partly because he didn’t want to look at the victor and partly because he didn’t want her to see just how far gone he was. His pants were tight.

“Yeah? When?” she sneered. “When you finally fuck her and she remembers and everything goes to _shit_ again?”

His fingers were holding the glass so tight it was shaking. He didn’t gratify Johanna’s remark with a reply. There was no reply to give.

“You fuck her, maybe you get her out of your system.” she warned him. “But she will never forgive you. And she will be right not to.”

“Since when are you on Trinket’s side?” he snarled.

“Since I heard her beg for you in her sleep for days while you were all fit and snug in your bed in Thirteen.” she retorted. “You want her to forgive you so you can finally fuck her, fine. But don’t screw this up, Haymitch. Don’t take advantage. That’s low even for you.”

Her words were blunt and to the point, as always with Johanna. They hurt. They hurt because they were true.

He forgot the glass to drink directly of the bottle.

It wasn’t enough to stop the onslaught of emotions, of _craving_. It wasn’t alcohol he was yearning for. It was Thirteen all over again. He wanted her. She was the only thing he could think about. His lust clouded his head, making him irritable and angry for no good reason.

When he finally got himself back under control, he went to the living-room but it was worse. Watching Effie playing the perfect hostess, bickering endlessly with Johanna about everything and nothing from the dress she was wearing to the victor’s lack of manners… He was having flashbacks of a time long gone. It wasn’t difficult to imagine Finnick was sitting in Annie’s place or Chaff in Peeta’s. It wasn’t difficult at all to picture the penthouse. He placed down the glass of wine before he could truly start confusing the reality with what his treacherous mind sometimes conjured to torment him.

He made no effort to chat but he was swept up in the conversation nonetheless.

Despite the context and the heavy threat on their head, the evening was almost pleasant – he suspected that it was because they were _always_ waiting for the other shoe to drop, even after all this time; they were victors after all and victors knew better than anyone else that you never leave the arena. They caught up with each others’ lives, reminisced about the few good times they had over the years, carefully avoiding the painful memories…

At some point, Effie’s head started dropping on Peeta’s shoulder and she eventually excused herself to bed. She wasn’t the only one sleep had caught up with : Annie was drowsing on the armchair, her son fast asleep on her lap.

Still it was some time before the kids decided to call it a night and it was downright late when everyone left his house. Haymitch did the usual tour, refilled the kittens’ dish – the cats were nowhere to be seen though, they seemed to have decided Finn’s grabby little hands were a threat – and finally climbed up the stairs.

Effie’s door was open and light was spilling out but that wasn’t unusual, she always left the lamp on. He thought nothing of it until he heard her calling him softly. Against his better judgment, he leaned against the doorframe of her room.

She was lying in bed, wearing his shirt again, lost in the midst of a pack of kittens. Her eyes were bright and wide and he was enthralled.

“Do you remember the time I had to carry you from the sponsors’ lounge to the penthouse?” she asked.

“Maybe.” he shrugged, studying her features. “Do you?”

She had been there almost two weeks already. Most of her memories were back. He didn’t think it would be very long before she recovered the rest.

“Bits and pieces.” she confessed. “Talking with Johanna and Annie helped me remember more. The most recent years are still a blur.” He wanted to tell her it was probably better that way, he barely managed a poor excuse of a smirk. She lifted the cover in an invitation, dislodging Hope who strolled further down the bed with an annoyed hiss. “Are you coming to bed?” she asked.

It wasn’t particularly seductive but his heart started racing all the same.

“’Don’t think that’s a good idea.” he answered.

 _Don’t take advantage_ , Johanna’s voice echoed in his mind. And she was right of course. He had been taking advantage ever since Effie had put a foot in his house. He had taken advantage of her lack of memories to fall back into their familiar pattern : bickering, sexual tension and pent-up anger. Effie, if she had been herself, would probably have never consented to enter his house, never mind talking to him.

“Why?” she frowned. “We don’t have to do anything… It could be just… to sleep.”

Like _sleep_ was going to happen with the two of them together in bed…

“Not tonight, Princess.” he refused. His head was telling him it was the right choice, his heart was aching with regrets and the basest part of his anatomy was screaming that he was an idiot.

He couldn’t chase her disappointed face out of his mind as he changed into sweatpants and he couldn’t help but cringe in disgust when he tried to get into bed. The clutter of papers was still there, complete with Vodka’s mess. _Bloody_ cat.

He didn’t know what possessed him to walk back to her room, he just knew it was a bad idea.

She had her back to the door now but she still glanced over her shoulder when she heard him, a small frown creasing her brow.

“Change of mind?” she teased.

“My bed reeks of cat piss and I’m not drunk enough to deal with this shit.” he grumbled, nudging some of the kittens aside to climb in. She turned around just as he was wrapping his arm around her and planted a kiss on his cheek. “No funny business, sweetheart.” he warned her.

“Isn’t that my line?” she hummed, snuggling against him. He groaned, not committing to anything, but she was satisfied with that. “Did you kiss me in an elevator? I can’t tell if it’s an actual memory or just… a fantasy.”

“I was drunk.” he countered. “’Doesn’t count.”

He hadn’t just kissed her in _one_ elevator. During the last years of the Games, his drunken self had groped, kissed and dropped dirty suggestions in her ear in every possible secluded location. He could remember one particular evening when she had threatened to cut his hands off if he didn’t keep them to himself. Another time, she had claimed she would leave him to rot in Peacekeepers’ custody if he tried to drunk kiss her again.

“You’re not drunk now.” she remarked, brushing the tips of her fingers against his cheek, softly but surely guiding his lips to hers. He didn’t even try to resist the kiss. He gave in. She didn’t deepen it but he could tell she wanted to. He drew back before he lost control of everything and dug himself into a deeper grave. Kissing her was everything he knew it would be. Kissing her was perfect. Kissing her would eventually be his downfall.

“Sleep now.” he ordered.

She studied him in the low glow of the lamp. Her blue eyes retraced his features. She looked wistful.

“What are you so afraid I will remember, Haymitch?” she asked, very openly.

His heart was hammering in his chest, there was no way she didn’t feel it pressed against him as she was. He kept a straight face but, if anything, it betrayed him even further.

“When we met – when I arrived here I mean – you said I had kicked you out the door.” she insisted. “And when you were drunk the other night, you said I hated you.”

He cursed his drunk brain to hell and back. His arms slipped away from her and he rolled on his back, staring at the ceiling. Coming back to her room had been a mistake. That was his problem : he could never quit while he was ahead.

“Were we together?” she pressed. “Did we have a relationship that went astray? Did you cheat on me?”

“No!” he spat defensively. “So what, because I like a drink I’m the cheating kind?”

“I’m trying to make sense of the situation, Haymitch, that’s all.” she sighed. “What happened? Why would you think I hate you?”

He pondered what to say and what to keep silent. His guts told him to just shut up, to bury his head in the sand until he couldn’t do it anymore but he knew playing the coward card would come back to bite him in the ass in the end. It already had in the past.

“We were never together.” he said at last. “Not like that anyway.”

He fell silent and the only noise, for a while, was the loud purring of the kittens.

“Haymitch.” she prompted after a few minutes, propping herself on her elbow to look at him.

His eyes never strayed from the ceiling.

“You being in prison, it was kind of my fault.” he mumbled.

“You already said that.” she recalled. “The first time I had the nightmares you said you should have protected me better.”

“I fucked up.” he admitted plainly. “I left you in the Capitol when I went to Thirteen. I thought…” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. I was a _fucking_ moron for not taking you with me.”

She sat up, her back against the headboard, and took a deep breath. Mahogany wandered up the bed, hopping on her leg and sniffing around the covers – in Haymitch’s relatively short experience it meant it was looking for a place to pee – Effie grabbed it and started petting it absent-mindedly. The brown kitten wasn’t the brightest bulb, it surrendered to her caresses easily.

“Did you know what would happen to me?” she asked in a quiet voice, staring at the cat.

“No.” Haymitch shook his head. “I thought they would bring you in for questioning, scare you a bit maybe, but I didn’t think they would hurt you. You didn’t know anything. You were a loyal Capitol citizen. I thought you would have been more at risk in Thirteen than there.”

“So, you thought leaving me behind was the right choice.” she mused.

“At the time, yeah. But it doesn’t matter what I thought or not.” he snorted. “You paid the price.”

“But that wasn’t your fault.” she argued, putting Mahogany down to clasp his hand. “You couldn’t have known. You thought you were doing the best for me, I refuse to think I hated you for that.”

He closed his eyes and clung to her hand, wondering at what point she would snatch it away. “What do you remember?”

She took her time answering, probably trying to make the difference between the memories and the nightmares.

“Flashes.” she offered. “Peeta mostly. How much I wanted to protect him. Pain. Johanna and Annie, now that I’ve seen them, I think. Terror.”

Her voice broke but when he glanced at her, her eyes were dry.

Now, the hard part… Haymitch couldn’t hide it anymore. He had gone too far when he had let her kiss him. He owed her the truth if nothing else.

“Peeta, Johanna and Annie were rescued.” he said. “You weren’t. Not for months. Not until we took the Capitol.”

He squeezed her hand hopelessly, already craving the bottle of whiskey he would need once she would kick him out of bed. Her breathing had quickened, her gaze was unfocused…

“They passed by my cell…” she whispered. “Men all in black…” The hand that wasn’t clutching his covered her face. “I looked for you but you weren’t there… Gale was. I called out to him, I asked him… He said…” She shook her head. “Not on the list. What does it mean?”

Her eyes were so earnest he forgot his instinctive urge to lie about it. “The rescue mission was meant for the victors. You weren’t on the list.”

“Oh.” she murmured. She was upset, he could tell at the way she had started to pet Mahogany again. “Did you design the list?”

“No.” he denied. “But I never once thought to put your name there so it’s the same thing, sweetheart.”

She mulled that over for a few seconds and then clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Of course, it’s not. Don’t be ridiculous. You said you thought I would be safe in the Capitol, did you even know I was in that prison?”    

“I…” His voice trailed off. That wasn’t something she had asked him before. Once she had learned he hadn’t put her on the list, there had been no talking to her anymore. Haymitch had no excuses for failing her, he knew that, but there were circumstances. “No. You were missing. Nobody knew were you were. Plutarch and I thought you were more likely being held with Portia and the prep team.”

“Then how is it your fault?” she insisted. “And why would I hate you?”

A grim sneer played on his lips. “They saved them and they left you there to suffer on your own. Because I was _stupid_. You have plenty of reasons to hate me.”

She looked at him for a while and then nudged the cat aside so she could snuggle close to him once again. At the foot of the bed, Silk seemed to think it was all a funny game and chased her feet under the covers. A soft smile graced Effie’s lips at the kitten’s antics, she rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped a possessive arm around his waist. Her thumb ran soothing circles on his bare side.

“This is a silly argument and I refuse to think I used it. You must have misunderstood.” she declared.

He swallowed back down the sarcastic comment and sighed. “Sweetheart, you said that you didn’t want to see me ever again. Your words, not mine.”

“When was this?” she whispered.

She nuzzled her nose against the side of his neck gently and he wondered how they had gone from him giving her the most troubling missing piece of her jumbled memory to her comforting him about it.

“After you were rescued.” he replied. “Before Katniss murdered Coin.”

“Right after?” she insisted.

“A few weeks…” he hesitated. “When you were starting to get better.”

“Perhaps I was angry?” she suggested, pressing a kiss on his shoulder. “Did you try to contact me later?”

“You said the mere sight of me made you want to gag.” he spat. “Again, your words.”

And it had hurt… Oh, _how much_ it had hurt to hear that coming from her… Effie was one of the few who had never outright despised him – not after she had found out why he was the way he was anyway. There had been pity in her gaze at times, and those times had been the worst – or so he had thought; he had foolishly assumed he would have preferred from her the same disgust and loathing he saw in everybody else when they looked at him rather than her pity. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Poor show of manners on my part.” she tried to joke. It fell flat. “Look… I can’t say I remember any of that very clearly but… Haymitch, I’m very sure I could never hate you. Not forever anyway.”

She grabbed his wrist and prompted him to wrap his arm around her. He did, reluctantly, still waiting for her to bolt out of bed and tell him to go burn in hell and stay there. When she didn’t, he allowed himself to settle down and closed his eyes, tentatively playing with her hair.

“Time will tell.” he mumbled.

She fell asleep first. Haymitch fought it as long as he could, certain she would wake up screaming soon but her dreams, for once, seemed pleasant. She was a dead weight against his chest – yet a _breathing_ , warm and comforting dead weight – and it had been _so long_ since he had a woman in his arms in that fashion… He drifted off despite his resolution not to.

To be honest, it was probably his best night of sleep in years.

He didn’t know what woke him up but he felt around for the lamp switch, still drowsy with sleep because the sun was high in the sky and it had no purpose anymore. That room needed curtains, he mused, burying his face in Effie’s hair to block out the light. He was slowly falling back into a deep slumber when he heard a door slam downstairs. The loud noise wasn’t enough to convince him to open his eyes.

“Haymitch!”

Effie groaned at the disturbance and slid further under the blankets, Haymitch instinctively drew her closer. She let out another sleepy noise and it took him several seconds to realize why. The feeling of her pressed tight against him started to chase the drowsiness away as something else began to cloud his mind.

“Haymitch, can’t you pick up your _bloody_ phone for once!”

Stomping on the stairs and Peeta’s unusually irritated voice should have been enough incentive to, at the very least, get out of bed _before_ something even more awkward than waking up pressed against Effie Trinket’s back with a hard-on could occur. It wasn’t. The bed was warm, he was hangovered from a good night of rest, his arms were full of a beautiful woman…

“ _Haymitch_!”

That was _annoying_. The boy was disrupting his peace.

“Here!” he shouted before he could think twice about it.

Effie startled and growled in displeasure at being woken by a loud scream in her ear.

“I swear you better be half-dead to not…” Peeta’s rant died down abruptly as he froze at the door. “Oh. Sorry.”

How Effie could be asleep one second and so reactive the next, he didn’t know. He was still painfully trying to get completely awake and there she was, sitting in bed, the blankets pulled up to her chest even though nothing at all was visible in his shirt…

“Peeta.” she said, confused. “What in Panem…”

“I’m sorry but Plutarch’s been trying to call for half an hour.” the boy replied. “You need to get downstairs.”

“Why?” Haymitch grumbled, rubbing his face and trying to will his arousal away.

“The Training Center blew up.” Peeta announced. “It’s on every channel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I hope everyone is having a great Sunday! If you happen to like it (the chapter not the Sunday although you can always let me know) please let me know!


	9. Chapter 9

Effie missed the warmth of the bed and, above all, she missed the feeling of Haymitch’s arms around her.

Her eyes remained glued to the TV screen, Peeta standing still next to the couch. From the kitchen, they could hear Haymitch’s frustrated attempts at getting in touch with Plutarch or Beetee or whoever could help explaining what was happening.

The news channels clearly didn’t know. They broadcasted a live feed of the Capitol, filming restlessly the area surrounding the Training Center – or what had once been the Training Center – and asked more questions than they gave answers. She wrapped her arms around her legs and propped her chin on her knees, discreetly tugging on the shirt she used as pajamas. It was long enough and Peeta had made no comment but she was feeling ill-at-ease wearing nothing but that.

She probably should have gone up and got dressed but she couldn’t look away from the screen. She was transfixed by what was happening. People in distress crying in the streets, some were bleeding, some were hurt, others were simply shocked… Dust hovering in the air, covering everything and everyone…

The commentator kept saying how much it reminded him of the war.

Effie was reminded of the Games.

Countless non-related moments kept flashing in her mind. Games from when she was still a little girl – when she had still viewed them as something enjoyable – and Games from after she became an escort – when the despair had been too much to bear. She let the memories flood her mind, marveling at how easy it was to recall them when they had been completely unreachable a few days earlier. It was the only thing worth marveling about when they were concerned. Too much death in her head, too much pain… The images on TV weren’t helping.

At some point, Peeta perched on the couch armrest next to her despite the numerous empty spaces available. His face was stern, his blue eyes shining with frustrated anger… When Haymitch came back to the living-room, he dropped on the couch, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and declared Plutarch would call them back when he could.

There was helplessness in the way they watched the news that morning, glued to the screen, unable to do anything but _stare_.

Effie wondered if that had been what District people had felt like all those years, forced to watch their children compete in the Games.

One by one, people trickled in the living-room. Katniss, first, her face grim and her fists clenched, closely followed by Johanna and Annie. Finn was still asleep but Annie took him out of the room as soon as he showed signs of stirring.  

By noon, the chaos on TV hadn’t diminished but Gale had arrived, all pent-up anger and hopeless rage, claiming that he had been ordered to dispatch most of their protection team back to the Capitol. Haymitch got furious at that. Effie watched, almost detached, as he started calling Plutarch without break again, nodding at Johanna’s sarcastic comments about all of them being sitting ducks in Twelve.

Effie wandered upstairs at that point, unable to take any more of the desolation on TV or of the dread she could feel radiating in waves from everyone in that living-room. She took her time getting dressed in the bathroom, hoping against reason that by the time she was done, everything would be resolved – or that she would wake up in her bed and that everything that had happened since Peeta had showed up had been a dream.

Her own life felt remote to her.

The threat – as real as it was – felt distant. Everything that had happened to her before that car had hit her and she had woken up in that hospital retained ghost-like qualities. She knew the memories she had gotten back were real. She knew what Haymitch had confessed the night before was real. Yet, somehow, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t bring herself to care. Katniss and Peeta were real, what she felt for them was real. Haymitch was real, her feelings for him were _definitely_ real. The kittens were real. Market day was real.

The rest…

Being the perfect poster child for the perfect poster high class Capitol family, becoming a model, being the social butterfly everyone expected her to be, becoming an escort, the fame, the suitors, the seventy-fourth Hunger Games Reaping, everything that followed – or what she remembered of it anyway – the prison, the tortures… Some of those memories were vivid, others were blurred and frayed and she was certain some of it was missing but… It still felt somehow unimportant compared to the here and now.

Perhaps the odd feeling would fade in time, perhaps she would manage to reconcile the past with her present…

_You said the mere sight of me made you want to gag._

She chased Haymitch’s upset grey eyes from her mind. She didn’t remember saying that. She didn’t remember _feeling_ that way.

She knew her heart if anything else. She had known almost from the start that Haymitch was special to her. She highly doubted she could ever bring herself to hate him forever no matter the cause. And if it was true, if he was _right_ … Then she didn’t want to remember.

The TV was still on in the living-room so she escaped to the kitchen. Haymitch was hanging up the phone. He was still in his nightclothes, apparently not bothered by the fact he was wearing only sweatpants when the house was full of guests, he turned to her with a displeased frown.

“Plutarch said The Loyalists broadcasted a spot to claim the attack.” he explained. “Beetee blocked it and he traced their location. That’s why they need Gale’s men, they’re going after them. We just have to sit tight until it’s over.”

She nodded. “Katniss should stay inside.”

“Yeah.” he agreed. “You too. You’re the two most likely targets here.”

“Do you think it really makes a difference at this point?” she sighed, casting a longing glance at the back door. “I really want some fresh air.”

“You’re okay, sweetheart?” he asked. His voice was softer, almost tentative. He brushed his fingers against her cheek and she leaned into the caress, wishing they could just go back to bed.

“I think my memory is coming back for good.” she confessed, after a few seconds of deliberation. She only had to think about someone or something and everything was coming back slowly, through flashes or a puzzling mumbo-jumbo of images she couldn’t quite make sense of. “I have a headache.”

“Maybe you should just go lie down.” he suggested.

He was nervous and for more than one reason, she figured. Not only was he anxious about Katniss’ and hers safety, he was also afraid she would remember precisely why she had wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

The idea of lying down without him or any kind of occupation was unappealing.

“I’m fine.” she lied, pressing a kiss at the corner of his lips. “I won’t be long.”

He didn’t seem pleased but he shrugged. “Jo’s in the yard. Not sure what she’s doing but stay where she can see you, yeah?”

She forced a smile and granted the request with another nod. His fingers coiled around her wrist before she could step away, the touch was gentle and she paused long enough to lift an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Be careful, sweetheart.” he demanded.

Her smile grew more genuine, quickly morphing in a teasing grin. “ _Do_ get dressed, Haymitch. As much as I like the view, I’m not the sharing kind.”

She let her eyes linger on his chest suggestively before turning on her heels and heading out. She was greeted by the loud honking of the geese – that did _nothing_ for her throbbing head and neither did Johanna’s imperative whistle.

“I am _not_ a dog.” Effie bristled, appalled by such manners.

Johanna was sitting on a rock, a rusty axe on her knees and a flat stone in her hand. She kept dragging the stone on the edge of the blade so it must have been a sharpening tool. As to where she had found the axe, it was anyone’s guess. Effie supposed Haymitch might have kept one in the shed with the rest of the logs for the fireplace.

“What are you doing outside?” Johanna barked. “If you’re so desperate to get killed, don’t wait for the next _fucking_ car. Ask me, I’ve been dreaming of strangling you for years.”

She flashed Effie a dangerous smirk that was probably meant to frighten her, the former escort barely restrained from rolling her eyes – which would have been rude – and wandered closer, hopping on the fence enclosing the geese pen and praying that it wouldn’t crumble under her weight. The wooden planks held and she spared a glance for the monstrous birds that looked disappointed she hadn’t fallen in their midst. She had no doubt they would have tried to eat her alive. Perhaps she should remind Haymitch to feed them, he had left something for the kittens but she didn’t think he had taken care of his geese.

“I held you for a whole night when we were in those cells, didn’t I?” Effie mused out loud when the memory came back out of nowhere.

“I was pretty out of it to let you.” Johanna snorted, going back to sharpening the axe. It was her favorite weapon, Effie recalled, she could carry one in each hand and throw them like others tossed knives. She was lethal in a fight.

They were silent for several minutes. Johanna worked on her axe and Effie was trying to sort the mess in her head. The headache was slowly receding and it was a relief because she didn’t think they had any painkillers left and a trip to town was obviously out of the question. Now that most of Gale’s men had left, she wasn’t even sure the whole village was still secure, perhaps they were just focusing on Haymitch’s house…

“Don’t get involved with Haymitch.” Johanna snapped out of nowhere.

Effie frowned and looked down at her but the victor’s eyes remained riveted on her weapon.

“My apologies…” she ventured “But…”

“He left you to rot in prison. Twice.” Johanna sneered. “You hate him. That’s what you told me last time I saw you.” The victor stood up and waved the axe in the air while she talked, creating a deadly arc around her. “Look, Trinket, he’s my friend and you fucked him up bad last time you left him. You were pretty fucked up too. Don’t start the same mess. Stay clear of him.”

She watched as Johanna’s movement became more and more confident, her body clearly falling back into familiar patterns. You could never take the fight out of a victor – Haymitch had told her that once, or at least she thought he had.

“He didn’t leave me.” she argued. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“Yeah?” Johanna’s cackle was cruel and carried no amusement whatsoever but Effie didn’t think it was ill-intended. If anything, she thought Johanna was trying to look out for her, in her own way. The younger woman stopped waving her axe around to face her. Her brown eyes would never quite settle, they kept darting around, looking for an eventual threat. “You weren’t singing the same tune back then, Trinket.”

Something was gnawing at her heart, something treacherous and ugly that wondered if Johanna didn’t have a point.

“It was still… _raw_.” she whispered. Her head was throbbing and she pressed her hands over her eyes in hope it would diminish the pressure building behind them. Nonsensical images flashed in her mind : an hospital room, Haymitch looking downright devastated, a door slamming shut… The feelings of misery and anguish were so strong she felt as if she couldn’t breathe properly. She gasped for air, opening her eyelids again to see Johanna in the same place as before, watching her with a calculating gaze. She swallowed back the urge to throw up. “Why do you even care? We aren’t friends.”

At least, she didn’t think they were. All her memories of the younger woman included bickering when not outright fighting.

Johanna turned her back to her, tossing the axe in the air and catching it before it hit the ground in what seemed to be a mechanical move. Effie couldn’t conceive a world in which children grew up playing with weapons as if they were toys yet she had no doubt Johanna had been handling an axe ever since she was big enough to hold one. The Capitol and the Districts were two very different places.

She would have loved to think that Johanna turning her back to her was a demonstration of trust but she remembered enough to know it was more likely that she wasn’t enough of a threat to worry the victor.

“I never got what Haymitch saw in you until we were in that place.” Johanna said and, perhaps, Effie realized that was why she had felt the need to turn her back. Honesty and feelings, just like it was the case for Haymitch, wasn’t the victor’s thing. “He kept telling us you were decent. A bitch, yeah, but a decent one. I hated the way he looked at you, _looks_ at you. No victor should feel like that way for a Capitol, never mind an escort. It’s gross and it’s wrong.”

Effie’s gaze followed the flying axe, at a loss for words.

Johanna didn’t seem disturbed by her silence. She went on, the loathing and the contained anger very perceptible in her voice. “You shielded the boy. Every time you could take it for him, you did.”

“Protect Peeta.” Effie murmured. That thought was always so clear when she was having a nightmare.

“We’re not _friends_.” Johanna snarled. “But we were in that _shit_ together. I saved you from bleeding out enough times in those cells, Trinket. God _fucking_ knows why since you jump in front of cars now…”

“You cried.” Effie cut in. The memory was clear in her mind : Johanna’s ugly sobs and Effie’s desperate attempts to comfort her, promising her Haymitch would do something, promising her a lot of things she hadn’t even truly believed in… Annie had mostly been left alone to rock in the corner of her cell, Johanna and Peeta had suffered the worst of it. As for Effie… They used to lash out on Effie when they had been frustrated with the two victors or when pain had done nothing to them anymore. It hadn’t mattered that she hadn’t known anything, they had thought Johanna and Peeta did and they had thought they would talk if they hurt _her_.

“Shut up, I _never_ cry.” Johanna retorted, glancing at her over her shoulder. “And don’t _you_ start now.”

Effie pursed her lips and blinked quickly, a few tears escaped her eyes but she managed to remain in control. She felt it all, though. The fear, the pain, the outright terror of dying there all alone… It had been worse after the victors had been rescued. No one had talked to her, no one had acknowledged her… She had been invisible. Effie Trinket was never meant to be invisible.

“Anyway.” the victor shrugged. “Don’t go and do something that will fuck both of you up again. If you’re sure, okay. If you aren’t, stay away.”

She swung the axe on her back and walked back inside without leaving room for Effie to argue. She remained perched on top the fence for several minutes longer, trying to sort out her own feelings. She remembered now… How angry she had felt after she had been rescued… How bleak everything had looked then…

“Effie?” Peeta called from the back door. He smiled tentatively when she looked up. “Haymitch says you should come back inside.”

She nodded and did as she was bidden.

In the short time that she had been out, the mood had changed in the living-room. The TV was now displaying cartoons for Finn’s benefits – not that the boy was watching, too busy waving a thread at Silk and Hope who would jump and attack without pause or fail. A bit like the people around her.

They all looked calm but it didn’t fool Effie. She could guess at the tension underneath. Johanna wasn’t the only one who had felt it necessary to get armed. Gale momentarily disappeared and came back with Katniss’ bow and guns for Haymitch and Peeta. Annie accepted the knife Johanna forced in her hands even if she simply wedged it between her back and her belt. Effie tried to shake her head no when Haymitch presented her with one but he didn’t give her any choice in the matter.

Then the waiting started anew. An old radio was playing quietly in the background, recounting what was happening in the Capitol, low enough that Finn wouldn’t hear it over the cartoons. Gale paced back and forth most of the day; Haymitch sometimes got up to pour himself a glass but Effie knew he was trying to remain as sober as his fray nerves would allow him; Katniss and Peeta sat huddled close together, fingers entwined; Johanna alternated between sitting and standing, sometimes humoring Finn by accepting his requests that she played with him; Annie fussed over her son and otherwise sat silent, her eyes lost in the distance. As for Effie, she was tired and wished it would end soon.

Still, the phone didn’t ring.

They ate in the living-room despite Effie’s half-hearted attempts to suggest they moved to the kitchen. Finn gushed over the improvised picnic, feeding most of his meat to the kittens who suddenly were more interested in being petted if that meant getting their share of his meal. Night fell and they all started to drift off one by one.

Finn fell asleep on the rug in front of the fireplace, surrounded by three of the kittens. Katniss’ head had dropped on Peeta’s shoulder, it wasn’t long before he rested his cheek against it and closed his own eyes. Annie was half propped against the armrest, very much asleep. Gale was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall.

Effie didn’t think he was really asleep. His eyes opened and immediately closed again when she stood up from her armchair to wander to Haymitch’s. The victor looked up at her with tired eyes but didn’t seem particularly surprised when she sat on his lap and curled up against his chest.

“The chair’s too small for that.” he grumbled, low enough that no one would wake up.

From her self-imposed guard duty at the window, Johanna snorted.

Effie didn’t mind. She wriggled until she was both comfortable and sure she wouldn’t fall. His arms wrapped around her and she rested her head on his shoulder.

“I’ve been thinking.” she whispered.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he taunted.

She whacked his arm, annoyed, and he chuckled.

“For the record, you’re not half as funny as you think you are.” she declared.

“I’m hilarious, sweetheart.” he countered with a smirk. She pursed her lips in irritation and they were silent for a moment, listening to Peeta’s light snoring. Haymitch’s thumb started drawing circles on her arm at some point but it took minutes for him to speak again. “Thinking about what?”

The question was abrupt and almost defensive.

“About what you told me last night.” she offered. “About what I remember.”

For once, Johanna was decent and didn’t venture a comment or even glance at them but Effie practically saw her ears perking up.

“You want to go into that _now_?” he muttered.

“There is nothing to go into.” she retorted, snuggling deeper against him and closing her own eyes.

_Don’t go and do something that will fuck both of you up again. If you’re sure, okay. If you aren’t, stay away_ , Johanna had said. Well…

“I forgive you.” she declared. She heard his sharp intake of breath, almost incredulous. “And to be honest, I am very sure I never hated you.”

“You said…” he started to argue but she placed her fingers on his lips.

“From what I remember I was hurting and I wanted an outlet. Any outlet. I wanted someone to blame.” she confessed. “I’m the one who should apologize, really.”

“Like hell.” he snorted. “I…”

“Please, don’t say you fucked up.” She wrinkled her nose in protest. “Not only is it appalling language but I am tired of hearing it. We both made our shares of mistakes over the years from what I remember.”

And she was remembering an awful lot now.

“Effie.” he insisted but she shook her head.

“No more on the subject.” she pleaded. “I am here now if you will have me, isn’t that enough?”

He remained silent for a few seconds and then, he pressed a brutal kiss on the top of her head. “It’s… _everything_.”

“Should I find a _fucking_ violin to serenade you?” Johanna mocked, glaring at them. “I swear if you start snogging I’m going to throw up.”

“Envy makes you green, Johanna.” Effie shot back.

Their bickering kept her awake a little longer but, in the end, it was a lost battle and she fell asleep right where she was, against Haymitch, despite her intentions to move to a couch at some point.

The nightmare was vivid that night, fed by the atrocious images she had seen on the TV screen, she woke up screaming, her dress plastered to her body by cold sweat and her hair in total disarray. Her scream of anguish was followed by an echoing one. She and Katniss stared at each other, panting for air, the same crazy spark in their eyes.

It was still dark except for the soft glow of the lamp Haymitch had turned on when night had started to fall, mindful of her insecurities. Peeta instinctively wrapped his arms around Katniss, pulling her back into him and mumbling sleepy reassurance in her ear. Slowly the girl relaxed, her eyelids fluttering close once more.

No arms wrapped around Effie. No voice told her she was safe.

She was alone on the armchair.

Annie and her son were still asleep. Gale seemed to be dead to the world, his mouth was open and each inspiration gave way to a snore.

Her blue eyes darted to the window but Johanna was missing too.

The fire had died down to mere glowing embers. She bolted to her feet, cold and scared, listening for a noise – _any_ noise that could tell her what was going on. Her frightened mind was already conjecturing scenarios in which they had been attacked during their sleep and Haymitch and Johanna…

She wandered in the corridor and finally heard the low exchange of voices coming from the kitchen. She pushed the door open without thinking twice about it.

Haymitch and Johanna were sitting at the kitchen table, sharing a bottle of something translucent. Johanna’s eyes trailed on her and she wordlessly handed her glass. Still shaking from the nightmare and far from being concerned with her usual rule when it came to drink from other people’s glasses , Effie downed it. It left a burning feeling all the way down her throat.

She made a face.

“Vodka.” Haymitch answered the unspoken question. As if recognizing its name, the white kitten on his lap mewled. “You’re okay, sweetheart?”

“Bad dream.” she explained, waving the question away. “I woke up and you were gone.”

He flinched at the implicit reproach.

“We’re celebrating.” Johanna declared, pushing another chair with her foot so Effie could sit down. “Heavensbee called. They got the assholes.”

Effie sat down, surprised by the relief that came over her. She hadn’t known she had been so worried until the weight left her shoulders. “All of them?”

“All seven of them.” Haymitch nodded. “We’re out of the woods.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are they out of the woods though? Let me know what you think!


	10. Chapter 10

Haymitch ventured outside with his bag of crumbs and grains under the pretence of feeding the birds he had neglected during the past few days. In truth, he wanted to keep an eye on what was happening in his neighbors’ backyard.

Finn was running around between the pen and the house, his chubby little arms extended on either side of his body – playing at being a hovecraft maybe – under Johanna’s watchful gaze. Or, at least, Haymitch mused as he reached the pen, it would have been watchful if she hadn’t been so busy spying on the Everdeen/Mellark household just like he had planned on doing. He dumped the content of his bag in the pen, rolling his eyes at the cacophony of reproachful honking, before joining Johanna who was casually leaning against the corner of the house – best angle to see Katniss and Peeta’s garden.

He watched as Peeta shook Gale’s hand and then went back in the house without a backward glance. Katniss lingered longer, exchanging a few words with her former best friend before hugging him. Haymitch narrowed his eyes but there was nothing suspicious to the hug. Gale’s hands remained wisely on her shoulders and the embrace itself was short if not brisk. The girl flashed him a curt smile and walked back inside, leaving the soldier to climb into the black truck waiting for him.

Haymitch couldn’t say he was sorry to see him go.

Gale had announced his intentions to go back to Two as soon as Haymitch and Johanna had shared the good news that they were safe once more. While most of them had enjoyed a lie-in – in proper beds this time – Gale had sent his men packing.

“That went better than I thought it would.” Johanna declared, her brown eyes following the truck’s retreat.

“She’s all grown up.” he shrugged, a little wistfully.

Johanna’s smirk was amused. “Don’t sound so _fucking_ thrilled.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be stupid. I’m happy for them. It’s just… They don’t need me anymore.”

He wondered what had made him admit that much aloud when he had carefully been munching on it for months now. He had seen it coming. Katniss getting better, Peeta finally starting to properly recover… They had each other. They didn’t need _him_. They probably had _never_ needed him, really.

“Poor useless old man.” Johanna cackled.

“Shut up.” he grumbled. “You’re not rushing back to Four, yeah? You’re staying a few days?”

Despite the circumstances, it had been good to see Jo and Annie again. Haymitch realized he missed them – and, yeah, _of course_ , it was his _damned_ fault for not picking up the phone more often but now that they were there…

“Aren’t you the social butterfly now.” Johanna taunted. “Trinket’s influence?”

The question was probing and Haymitch chose not to humor her. His relationship with Effie was complicated enough without Johanna Mason butting in.

“How is Four?” he asked.

The younger victor shrugged, her face becoming sterner and her eyes falling back on the little boy running around and, he hoped, exhausting himself – it would give the kittens some peace, Haymitch was having a hard time convincing the kid they weren’t toys.

“Lot of water.” she replied after some time. “You know how I _love_ water.”

“Nobody said you had to _stay_ there.” Haymitch pointed out.

“Sink or swim.” she chuckled darkly. “I learned to swim again. Beside, Finnick was my best friend, I can’t let Annie down.”

“Is it that bad?” he frowned.

Since her arrival, Annie had been the same Annie he remembered : sometimes a lively firecracker of a woman and the next second a shell they couldn’t breach. She would start rocking or singing to herself, locked in her head. She was a dedicated mother and she loved Finn very much, nobody could doubt it but when she was having one of her episode, even the kid couldn’t quite reach her. He couldn’t imagine how that would have worked out without Johanna there to keep an eye on things.

“No.” Johanna snapped defensively. “Most days are good.” Her eyes narrowed on the boy who had bent in two to pick up… “Finn, don’t _fucking_ touch bird _shit_ , that’s yucky!”

Haymitch’s lips twitched but he just knew he would end up castrated if he snickered like he desperately wanted to.

“What are you laughing at?” she growled.

“That kid will swear like a sailor before he’s four.” he replied.

“Good thing he lives with sailors then.” Johanna retorted. They watched the boy play for several more minutes. It was impossible to look at him and not think of Finnick. He had the same hair, the same eyes and the same peacock smile – except his was still innocent. “You ever wonder how we ended up like this?” Johanna asked suddenly. “You, raising geese and cats, and me, co-parenting a kid? I would never have bet on you and I being the ones left standing.”

He wouldn’t have either.

He would have bet on Finnick and Chaff or even Seeder because they had always been the sensible ones in their little group of friends.

“Fate is a fickle bitch.” he offered because life, in his experience, was unfair. Finnick should have been standing there, next to Jo, not him.

“Not for everyone.” she argued. “Look at your kids, they’re going to make it, and it even looks like you got your escort back after all. ‘Didn’t see that one coming.”

“We’ll see.” he spat cautiously.

Johanna studied him and then shook her head. “Don’t fuck this up again, Haymitch. She says she forgives you. You know what they say… Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Not until it bites?” he snorted. “She doesn’t remember.”

“She remembers most of it.” she countered. “ _I_ think you’re being a coward again.”

“And _I_ don’t remember asking for your _bloody_ opinion.” he grumbled. “Since when do _you_ play matchmaker anyway? Two days ago you told me to stay clear of her.”

Jo shrugged but was saved from answering by the timely arrival of Peeta, hands deep in his pockets and an amused grin on his lips. Haymitch knew he wasn’t going to like the next part.

“The ladies have decided a picnic is in order.” he announced.

Jo and Haymitch let out two perfectly synchronized groans.

There was no deterring Effie, Katniss and Annie from their idea – and yet they tried. A hovercraft landed in the meadow just as they were about to leave for the lake – because, obviously it was the _best_ place to have a picnic in late autumn – and Plutarch, who had come to update them about the situation, was abducted and ordered to share their lunch.

He summed up the past days events on the way and reaffirmed that all danger had passed and that they were all perfectly safe again.

Haymitch was panting like a dying animal by the time they reached the lake and he had to endure Johanna’s and Katniss’ restless teasing about him being out of shape. It put him in a sour mood but Effie’s hand sliding in his halfway there lifted his spirits a bit. He still continued to grumble, even if it was mostly for show.

It was cold on the lake shore but nobody seemed to mind. Finn was having a blast, Annie was laughing, Jo was trying very hard to hide her grin faced with the little boy’s cute antics… Katniss and Peeta were all lovey-dovey again – as lovey-dovey as Katniss would ever get anyway which mostly consisted of shared smiles, quick glances and stolen kisses when the kids thought nobody was watching. Plutarch expressed several times his relief at being able to relax and thanked them for forcing him along and Haymitch simply leaned back on his elbows on the picnic blanket and watched his makeshift family.

When she was done putting away the leftovers from lunch, Effie stood up and joined Annie at the water edge. She was immediately brought along in Finn’s game that consisted on climbing small clutters of rocks and jumping on the nearby adults. The wind had knocked down her stylish bun and she had tied her curls in a neat ponytail that kept swinging left and right when she moved, the pants she had borrowed from Johanna were tight and made for a great view when her back was turned on him, her cheeks were pink from the cold and the exercise, her eyes were bright and shining with mirth… She was so beautiful his heart was aching.

“You’re staring.” Plutarch commented, taking a seat next to him. “I can’t exactly blame you. The view is appealing.”

“I thought there was nothing glorious about Effie Trinket anymore?” he scorned, low enough that it wouldn’t carry to the kids and to Jo who were the closest to them. Katniss and Johanna were busy arguing and Peeta was playing referee though, so he didn’t think they would notice an elephant if it had flown by.

Plutarch’s smile wasn’t exactly a smirk but there was something sly in it all the same. “Sometimes, you need a push in the right direction, Haymitch. You can be _quite_ stubborn.”

“So what?” he scoffed. “You could have kept her safe in the Capitol, don’t think I don’t know what you were doing.” He had had his suspicions from the start. Yes, Effie would have been safe in Twelve but there were tons of others, more legal, options. Haymitch hadn’t been fooled for one second. Plutarch always had hidden motives. “What was the point?”

“Well…” the former Gamemaker laughed. “When I learned she was amnesiac, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity for you two to… Shall we say… rekindle the flame? And I knew you would protect her, of course, so there you have it. Two birds with one stone.”

Haymitch didn’t know what was the most aggravating : the casual way Plutarch was talking about _his private life_ or that everything still seemed to be a game to him. Once a Gamemaker…

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Haymitch.” Plutarch sighed. “You were miserable after she…”

“Yeah.” he cut him off sharply. He remembered perfectly, he didn’t need a detailed account. He also remembered Plutarch finding him wasted out of his mind one time too many and helping him. That alone was the only reason the man wasn’t yet flat on his back with a knife against his throat. Haymitch didn’t appreciate meddling.

“She looks well.” the Capitol ventured. “And you seem to get along just fine.”

Haymitch switched the topic to the consequences of the Training Center explosion and how the government had decided to handle things. Plutarch seemed saddened by the lack of gossiping but the Secretary of Communication could talk at length about politics and Haymitch was happy to listen to his ramblings, only commenting now and then.

All in all, it was a very good day. They were all cold and tired when they decided to head back but after the tension of the past few days, it was welcomed, needed even.

Yet, it was still a relief to let Jo and Annie steer Finn to the house they had claimed for themselves and see the kids leave for their own home after saying goodbye to Plutarch.

“A word if you please, Miss Trinket.” Plutarch told Effie, right as he was about to leave for the meadow and his waiting hovercraft.

Haymitch lingered by the front door, pretending to study a crack in the peeling paint and very much eavesdropping.

“You remember Mr. Gracedull?” Plutarch asked her.

“I work for him.” she nodded with a small frown that Haymitch had learned meant she was trying to remember something specific. “As a secretary.”

“Yes.” the former Gamemaker confirmed. “He asked me to tell you he would like you to come back to work on Monday if you’re well enough.”

“Oh.” Effie’s voice was flat. “Yes, naturally.”

“Good, good…” Plutarch clasped his hands and rubbed them against each other. “I will tell him to expect you, then. I could give you a ride back to the Capitol right now if you’re a quick packer…”

Haymitch’s stomach churned and he purposely walked back inside, ignoring the welcoming mewls of the kittens. He fed them absent-mindedly, placing the dish of milk on the kitchen floor and watching them huddle around the plate. He wondered if she would take them with her. He found himself petting the black and white kitten almost frantically, the look it gave him wasn’t impressed.

_Hope isn’t my forte, Princess._

_I noticed. It is precisely why you could use the daily reminder_.

Hope escaped his hand and went on the other side of the dish just so he could eat in peace. That was a perfect illustration of why hoping was never a good idea : hope was selfish.

He heard the front door close slowly – she _never_ slammed doors and in the short lapse of time she had been there, the kids had learned not to carelessly shut the doors as they were used to – and her familiar footsteps but he didn’t look up. He remained crouched next to the kittens, pretending to be fascinated by their meal. Mahogany finished first and started rubbing its little paw against its nose to clean its face.

“You heard.”

It wasn’t a question so Haymitch didn’t bother lying. He shrugged. “You’re going back right now?”

“No, if that’s alright I will stay a few more days.” she said. “I will take a train on Saturday.”

He glanced up and he saw the escort mask looking back at him : the forced smile, the fake cheerfulness…

“I could come back and visit.” she suggested tentatively.

He _did_ look up then. Come back and visit…

It wasn’t a conscious decision to stand up or to march on her. She stood her ground, she barely had time to drop the act and to let out a pained “Haymitch” before he was pinning her against the wall. His mouth found hers, _devoured_ hers… He wasn’t thinking clearly. All his reservations, all his doubts melted away into that kiss because if he was certain of only one single thing it was that he couldn’t lose her. Not again. Not _ever_.  

It would kill him.

“Haymitch…” she sighed against his lips, her fingers swiftly dealing with the buttons of his shirt. The second her hand made contact with his skin, he was lost. Although it wasn’t entirely true. Perhaps he had been lost all this time and now, he was _found_.

His lips trailed up her jaw, down her throat… Her head hit the wall with a soft _thud_ but her hands remained busy, torn between trying to push the shirt off his shoulders and exploring the newly exposed amount of skin. Her fingers curled over his left shoulder blade after he simply pulled her sweater over her head without pause, eager to go back to his own exploration. She tensed for a second and, attuned to her as he had become, he stopped, watching her with an inquisitive gaze.

Slowly, her hand left his shoulder to guide his to her side, right above her hip. It took him a moment to realize what she was doing. _The scars_. She was pressing his hand against a burn patch of skin, uncertainty was flickering in her eyes along with shame. He kissed her full on the mouth. He had _no_ _right_ to mind the scars when he was partly responsible for them in the first place.

The kiss seemed to shake away whatever spell she was under. Her hands went back to his body, roaming on his back, touching his chest… He wasn’t a self-conscious man but he still winced when her fingers probed his less-than-firm stomach.

His hands caressed her sides, his thumbs feeling each of the bone of her ribcage on their way up to her bra. It was black and a bit lacy but still quite plain for her, like the rest of her clothes nowadays. He supposed fancy lingerie was as expensive as _haute-couture_. He didn’t care much either way. She would have been beautiful in a trash bag.

He hadn’t even made contact with her breasts yet when she hooked a leg around his, drawing him closer, her hands urged him to press against her. His instinct was to grab her thighs and lift her up but, instead, he drew back.

They had almost had sex a lot of times over the years – late parties, alcohol, despair, frustration… Almost every time it had happened, before one of them found their sanity back and pushed the other away, it had been up against a wall or another. He didn’t want that. Not now. They weren’t the escort and the mentor anymore. This wasn’t about despair or blowing up steam.

He had had his little freaking out crisis over his feelings for her years ago, in Thirteen, when he had woken up one morning unable to breathe because he was missing her much more than he had anticipated. He knew what he was feeling for her – it didn’t make it any easier to accept or admit and it certainly didn’t mean he was ready to express it out loud but _he_ _knew_.

And he didn’t want sex to be a hurried affair that would be over before it could properly begin.

She didn’t resist when he grabbed her hand and pulled her in the corridor. How they ever reached the bedroom he would never know. They didn’t seem to be able to stop kissing each other. He certainly couldn’t keep his hands off her. The stairs were tricky to manage and by the time they reached the top of the staircase, there was a trail of clothes behind them.

They crashed on the bed without poise or elegance. It was clumsy and she laughed when he bumped his head against the headboard. He muffled her giggles with his lips, torturing her mouth until her snickers turned to moans.

He explored her body like he had never taken the time to learn another woman’s. He mapped out the scars with his tongue and his fingers, silently begging for a forgiveness already granted with every kiss… He had imagined having her in his bed countless of times over the years but he had never thought it would be like this. Making it last wasn’t his thing – he had never seen the point and he had never cared for much more than triggering his own release – but it was different this time. It was different because he found a surprising amount of enjoyment in watching her come apart under his mouth and fingers.

Her blue eyes were dark with desire when she pulled him over her and ordered him in no uncertain terms to stop playing. He complied with her wishes, groaning with primitive pleasure when he finally gave in to his deepest urge. Her fingernails clawed at his back, she bit his shoulder but the sounds she was making… They drove him _mad_.

She arched her back, lost to her own bliss, but it was the ghost of his name on her lips that was his undoing.

For several minutes afterwards, all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears and his loud panting. She wasn’t in a better state, out of breath and limp like a rag-doll. Her fingers tentatively tangled in his hair and he propped himself on his elbows to relieve her from his dead weight. They ended up kissing again. He rolled off her but drew her close, unable to let go of her.

Still now that his mind was clear of lust, he could feel the panic bubbling in. He clung to her, not even caring about how needy he must have looked.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, nuzzling her nose against his neck. She kissed the tender skin of his shoulder where her teeth had left a red mark. It did little to help him relax.

“When you remember…” He paused, swallowing down his guilt with difficulties. Had he just taken advantage of her? Of her missing memories?

“Haymitch, I can’t say I remember every second of the last few years but I remember enough.” she sighed, shifting until she was straddling him and leaving a trail of soft kisses over his collarbone. “I wanted this.”

There was no doubting that she had wanted this and that wasn’t the question. The question was… “Are you sure you’re done hating me, sweetheart?”

It was more vulnerable than he cared to be but there was no other ways to get the answers he wanted but to ask.

A flicker of annoyance flashed on her face but it was brushed away by the seriousness of her expression.

“There is one thing I remember particularly vividly about the last two years.” she said, meeting his eyes. “I missed you. I missed you every second of every day to the point I couldn’t breathe. I don’t remember _everything_ but I do remember this.” They stared at each other and she must have felt it wasn’t enough because she sighed. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” he reluctantly offered.

“Temper your enthusiasm.” she muttered before shaking her head in irritation. “If you trust me you should know I wouldn’t toy with you. I’m not saying this is going to be easy. It never was and it probably never will be but I’m willing to give it a try. Don’t you understand?” Her eyes begged him to understand. “I _love_ you, you stupid man.”

He didn’t have any good answer to that.

So he kissed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo... What do we think? Three chapters left... what is going to happen? Let me know your thoughts!


	11. Chapter 11

Lips wandered up her spine, leaving a burning trail in their wake.

Effie purred in the pillow, relishing in the feel of Haymitch’s hands on her sides and the mouth roaming on her back. His hand briefly coiled around her nape, brushing her hair aside to plant a kiss there and she would have turned to face him if Moonshine hadn’t chosen that moment to jump on the pillow next to her head. Haymitch didn’t even pause before picking up the kitten and dropping it back down on the floor.

“That one’s sneaky.” he mumbled against her shoulder, over the chorus of desperate mewling audible from the other side of the closed bedroom door – the only time Haymitch had consented to leaving the bed _all_ _day_ had been to chase the cats from the room. She wasn’t sure how Moonshine had escaped the roundup but the kitten was clearly dedicated to its mission and she couldn’t help but giggle when it jumped on the bed again, this time swiftly avoiding Haymitch’s grabby hand.

“She’s hungry.” Effie hummed, stretching her limbs. Her body was deliciously sore in all the right places, she supposed that was what happened when you were confined to a bed for a whole night and a whole day with a man you couldn’t get enough off. Moonshine let out a disapproving hiss when Haymitch tried to, not so subtly, nudged it off the bed. Effie’s stomach chose that moment to start rumbling. “I’m hungry too.” She rolled on her back which brought her directly in his arms. “Aren’t you?”

“Starving.” he smirked before lowering his head to her collarbone. His teeth close on the delicate skin and she whimpered half in protest half in encouragement.

“I’m serious.” she chided him.

“Me too.” he replied.

His mouth found hers and they started kissing again. She wondered if they would ever be able to stop. His fingers were shaking when they brushed against her thigh – she figured he hadn’t had a drink in too long but he didn’t even seem to care.

A new imperative _mewl_ made her snicker against his lips. “I think we should feed the cats or we will never get a second of peace.”

He let out a pained sigh but rolled off her and climbed off the bed, all the while muttering about little fluffy monsters. She bit her bottom lip to prevent a grin. She doubted he would have liked to hear he was cute.

She got up a lot more slowly, taking the time to stretch. The bed was an impossible tangle of sheets that were in a desperate need to be changed but she decided that it could wait after she had taken a shower. By the time she was clean again – and had taken an inventory of the numerous hickeys adorning various parts of her body – she wandered downstairs, clad in another one of his shirts. She loved the possessive glint in his grey eyes when she was wearing his clothes.

The kittens were all cluttered around a plate in a corner of the kitchen and Haymitch was standing by the stove, cooking – or _burning_ , it was hard to tell by the smell – eggs. He hadn’t bothered with clothes.

“I’m not sure that’s very safe.” she commented, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning against his bare back. She kissed his shoulder blade, noting that she wasn’t the only one with love bites in odd places, and raised on tip toes to prop her chin on his shoulder. She was so happy she thought she would _burst_ with joy. She doubted it would always be _this_ easy but she knew it could be _good_. Her hand slid down his front playfully while he was trying to salvage the eggs. “I’m rather fond of this part of you, you should put on an apron.”

“I’m not the apron kind.” he replied, loosely coiling his fingers around her wrist. “And you shouldn’t touch me _there_ if you want breakfast, sweetheart.”

“Are you the eunuch kind? Because that oil is hot and it’s flying everywhere.” she teased, nudging him aside to take his place. “Besides, it’s almost five in the afternoon. It’s too late for breakfast.”

“Is there a rule that says you can’t have breakfast at five?” he grumbled, tangling his fingers in her hair. “You took a shower. You should have said, Princess, I would have come with you.”

“And the kittens would still be starving and me with them.” she grinned. “Go wash up. I promise not to burn everything.”

She accepted the long lingering kiss he planted on her lips and watched his naked form sauntering away in an unprecedented good mood. Proud like a peacock too, she mused. _Men_. She almost rolled her eyes but decided he had reasons to be proud. It had been a very good night and it had also been a very good day. Still, she wasn’t surprised to spot a newly empty glass on the counter. She didn’t have to smell it to know it had contained a liquor of some sort. She rinsed it, put it to dry and poured herself some orange juice. Five in the afternoon or not, she was craving breakfast.

A breakfast, she, for once, managed not to entirely burn to a crisp.

Haymitch was wearing sweatpants when he reappeared although he hadn’t bothered with a shirt or shoes – she was happy for it, she enjoyed the view. There was little conversation because they were too busy stuffing themselves with food, completely famished.

“We should check on the children.” she said, between two mouthfuls of eggs – she was attentive to swallow before speaking, Haymitch wasn’t quite _that_ considerate and didn’t seem to understand where her disapproving pout was coming from.

“You know they survived without you for two years, yeah?” he snorted.

The second the words were out of his mouth, the easy afterglow mood faded away. She hadn’t been there for the last two years, true enough, and she realized she wouldn’t be there full time from now on. With a full day train ride, coming back on the weekends was out of the question and she wasn’t entirely certain she believed in long distance relationships. Not for them anyway.

Haymitch seemed to have the same thought because, suddenly, he wasn’t that hungry. He moved pieces of eggs around his plate with his fork, not really looking up. She wasn’t surprised when he stood up to fix himself a drink. He muttered something about checking on something and disappeared from the room. She didn’t try to follow, knowing that when he truly needed his space it was better to just give it to him.

Saturday, she mused, would come too soon.

And then what?

The last two years were a sort of blur in her mind but she figured it had less to do with missing memories and more to do with how completely _dull_ her life was. She was working as a secretary for a casting agency, that much she remembered, and not only was it as boring as it got for minimal wages but it was also downright humiliating to be looked down by every pretty young thing in vogue or aspiring to be the next big star. Her life, aside for that, was empty. She lived in an unfashionable street, in a small unfashionable apartment and she spent most of her free time either trying to forget prison or trying not to drown in self-pity. She had next to no friends left, no family to speak of…

But it _was_ her life now. She had survived the Capitol cells, she had survived Coin’s Purge and she had survived The Loyalists’ attempts to kill her… Effie was very much a survivor and, as awful as her memories of her current way of life seemed, she was sure she could survive it if she could only escape to Twelve now and then. She and Haymitch could phone – she didn’t even bother imagining he would move to the Capitol for her, she knew he wouldn’t want to put a foot back there if he could help it. It could work, she figured.

 _Or she could stay_.

The idea came out of nowhere and she pushed it aside quickly before she could linger on it too long. If her mother had taught her anything it was that you didn’t impose on anyone. She wasn’t wealthy enough to buy a house in the village – even if nobody actually wanted to live there, she doubted the government would let anyone move in as they pleased given that they actually owned the empty buildings – and the lodgings in town were still shadier than her apartment in the Capitol, she wasn’t ready for such a radical change in housing. She couldn’t very well move in the children’s guestroom and she couldn’t just declare she was moving in at Haymitch’s all the more so now that they were… whatever they were.

Haymitch was a private man. The fact that he desired her, loved her even maybe, didn’t mean he wanted her full time. No… That idea wasn’t worth lingering on.

She could hear Haymitch rummaging in his bedroom – finally throwing away the papers and changing the sheets Vodka had soiled, she hoped – so she stayed clear of that part of the house. She took the opportunity to change the dressing of her own bed and pick up the clothes they had tossed everywhere in their hurry. He was still sulking when she was done so instead of getting irritated at his inability to face his problems, she got dressed and wandered to the children’s house.

Peeta welcomed her with a broad grin and ushered her to the kitchen where Finn was busy stuffing newly baked pastries in his mouth. His face was covered with chocolate and his hands were sticky with sugar. Still, he greeted her arrival with an enthusiastic waving and a hopeful “kitty?”. Obviously, if she wasn’t escorted by cats, she wasn’t interesting enough and Finn quickly went back to shoveling baking goods in his mouth. Effie clicked her tongue and tried to dab at his lips with a napkin but he was determined in making a mess and she didn’t want to stain her dress – she was strongly reminded of why she didn’t have any children.

Terribly amused by her attempts, Peeta presented her with a plate of pastries. Despite the full meal she just had, she gave in to the temptation of a pink frosted cupcake.

“Where is Katniss?” she asked when Peeta was done pouring her tea.

“She’s having a girl night with Johanna and Annie.” he answered. “They’re at the bar in town I think. So Finn and I are having a boy night. Right, kiddo?” Finn was too engrossed in his new game of painting his face with frosting to reply. Effie wondered who would kill Peeta first : Annie or Johanna? The boy gave her a sheepish smile. “They stopped by to invite you earlier.”

“Really?” Effie really hoped she wasn’t blushing too much. “We didn’t hear the knocking.”

“Oh, Katniss never knocks…” Peeta grinned. “They said you were clearly… _busy_ so they didn’t want to bother you.”

She briefly closed her eyes, mortified, and then cleared her throat. “And that is why proper manners are important and people should always knock.”

Peeta’s blue eyes were twinkling in amusement. “I would expect some teasing from Johanna if I were you.”

“When shouldn’t I?” she sighed, nibbling on the pink frosting.

The boy laughed quietly but it was fond rather than mocking.

“I’m very happy for you two.” Peeta offered. “Haymitch is so much better since you’re here… And it will be great to have you around.”

_Have her around…_

Peeta looked so happy about the prospect, she could feel a lump starting to form in her throat.

“I’m going back to the Capitol on Saturday.” She rushed the words out before she could think twice about it.

“To get your things?” he asked, distracted by the cupcake Finn threatened to throw at the wall. It took a few seconds to pry it away from his hands. “Do you need help? I could come with you…” His voice was uncertain. “I think I would be alright now.”

“No, I…” She sighed, not knowing how to put it into words. She really should have discussed it with Haymitch first.

“Oh.” Peeta suddenly understood. “You’re not staying.”

She tried to pretend she didn’t hear the disappointment. She utterly failed.

She cut the visit short after that. Peeta made an attempt at being cheerful but it was clear he was saddened by the idea of her going away – as sad as she felt probably – and Effie _abhorred_ goodbyes, all the more so given they weren’t necessary yet.

Haymitch was out of hiding when she came back to the house. He was lurking in the kitchen and he opened his mouth as soon as he saw her. She didn’t give him time to talk, she framed his face with her hands and pulled him in a kiss and, just like that, they were tearing at each other’s clothes again.

They ended up in his bedroom this time and she ended up on top. He was reluctant to give it to her but she needed the control. She needed to be in charge. Or the illusion that she was at least…

When she slumped on him, completely out of breath, he wrapped his arms around her and held on with the same despair she felt.

“You will take care of the kittens, yes?” she whispered.

The room had turned dark but she didn’t even care. She wasn’t afraid of the looming darkness because Haymitch was there and she knew Haymitch would protect her from anything. She had grown accustomed to that feeling. She didn’t know how she would get used to her silent apartment again, to the thin walls and the cranky neighbors who hammered on the shared wall when she woke them up with her nightmares. She closed her eyes and buried her face in the crook of his neck, reassured by the mere smell of whiskey, cheap soap and faint sweat that was so _him_.

She never wanted to be parted from him ever again.

She never wanted to…

“They’re _your_ damn cats.” he grumbled.

“My flat is too small.” she countered. “They would be unhappy in the Capitol. And they would miss you.”

“’Cause they won’t miss _you_?” he retorted.

“I will come and visit.” she promised, almost frantic. “I will come and visit. It will be alright. It will be, won’t it, Haymitch?”

For the longest time, the only answer she got was silence. And then…

“Don’t go.”

Her heart leaped but she forced herself not to let it go to her head.

“I know that’s how you feel _now_ but, Haymitch, in a few days, weeks maybe, when the novelty has worn off…” she argued. It ended in a surprise yelp when he rolled them over. He propped himself on his elbows and stared down at her. She could feel the intensity of his gaze even in the darkness.

“You claim I should trust you when you say you won’t change your mind about hating me, Effie.” he reminded her. “Trust me now. _Don’t go_.”

“But…” she tried only to fall silent. He was right on one aspect : it was about _trust_. Except it was also about being realistic. “Everything is going very quickly, Haymitch.”

“Yeah, sure. If you think fifteen years in the making is very quick, sweetheart.” he snorted bitterly, rolling on his back.

“You weren’t feeling about me the way you do now for fifteen years.” she chided him.

She would grant him the two years since the rebellion and perhaps a handful before that because that was the case for her but Haymitch had always been different in that aspect. He had always been careful about who he let in close to him, picky about his friends, reluctant to let anyone past his walls… It had taken so much time before they had evolved from colleges who could barely stand each other to friends who could barely keep their hands off each other…

“You sure?” he scoffed. “I can’t tell anymore.”

“Haymitch…” she tried.

“No.” he snapped. She could hear all the pain and bitterness of the last couple of years in that word. When he started talking again, his voice was harsh and rough and she was certain none of this would have passed his lips if it hadn’t been so dark he couldn’t see her properly. “You know I can’t even remember what my girl looked like? I try to think about her and I feel _nothing_.” The last word was spat with so much self-loathing it made her heart ache. Much less than the rest though… “I used to dream about her, now I dream about _you_. All the _fucking_ time. Not always nightmares, some dreams are _fucking_ nice and they’re worse ‘cause you ask me what my biggest regret is, Trinket, and that’s _you_.” He let out a shaky sigh. Effie was holding her breath, her eyes were riveted to his face but he wasn’t looking at her, he was staring at the ceiling. “I lost you twice, I don’t want to test the _third time’s the charm_ theory. When I say don’t go, I mean it. If you want to go anyway, whatever, I will take what I can get, but stop pretending this is all a huge surprise. You said you remember most of it now.”

“That was quite a speech.” she commented after several seconds of silence.

“Yeah.” he scoffed. “Don’t get use to it.”

She snuggled against his side, resting her head on his shoulder. He bristled a bit and made no move to hold her.

“You’re staying or going?” he asked, echoing a question he had already asked a few days earlier. He sounded like a petulant child and it made her smile with fondness.

“I love you.” She had already said it the night before and she knew, deep inside, how uncomfortable he was with that sort of declaration yet she couldn’t help it. She needed to get it off her chest, she needed to say it, she needed for him to _hear_ it. She couldn’t erase the last couple of years. She couldn’t change what had happened. All she could do was try to make it better.

He shifted and tentatively wrapped his arms around her, uncertain. “I… You know I…”

She took pity of his awkward mumbling.

“I do.” she whispered. “It’s alright, you don’t have to say it.”

He dropped a kiss on the top of her head in obvious relief.

“Don’t go.” he requested again, tangling his fingers in her hair and angling her head for a kiss that left her breathless. “Sweetheart, don’t go…” She chased after his lips but he drew back slightly, their mouths barely brushed against each others. “You’re like a drug and I’m fucking _hooked_.”

It was better than an _I love you_ in her book and she jumped on him with a primitive growl that surprised even herself. It made him laugh, a low rumble of a laugh that she could feel where their chests were flushed tight together.

When she fell asleep, she was safe and warm in his arms, their legs tangled together, her body and her mind at peace. She felt as if the whole world had faded away and they were untouchable.

It was the reason why being violently shaken by the shoulder was a rude awakening.

It only got worse when he forced the handle of a knife into her numb hands.

“Wake up.” he hissed at her, hauling her to her feet. “We’ve got company.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fluff before the storm. What a meaaaaan cliffhanger... What do you think is happening? Only 2 chapters left ;)


	12. Chapter 12

If Haymitch had known an overindulgence of sex could chase the nightmares away, he would have tried it much earlier. His body was unused to such exhaustion and, for the first time in years, he slept undisturbed. Yet, years of conditioning meant he wasn’t a heavy sleeper and, despite the deep slumber he was in, the noise slowly brought him back to awareness.

The first thing he saw was Effie’s glorious mane of curls and his first instinct was to spoon her further and bury his face in her hair. So decided was he to spoil himself with a rare night of rest that he almost ignored the noise whatsoever. Fortunately, going to sleep was never easy for him and thus he was left to drift off, not totally awake but not entirely asleep either. It took him at least five minutes to realize the racket was the frantic honking of geese and two more to understand it was odd. He opened heavy eyelids to check the time on the clock but the red glow confirmed it was only two in the morning.

_Wild animal_ , whispered a little voice at the back of his mind.

He let out a groan. It wouldn’t have been the first time a fox or a wild cat wandered in his backyard. He hoped it was that and not one of the kittens who had managed to escape the house and enter the pen because the birds would rip it to shreds.

Careful not to wake Effie, he extracted himself from the bed and walked to the window, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He peered outside in the direction of the pen, knowing it would probably be fruitless because it was too dark to see anything and he would have to walk outside anyway. Laziness should have been his middle name, he mused, leaning against the windowpane.

He rubbed at his eyes again, he could see the geese in the pen, flinging their wings in a threatening fashion but they didn’t seem to be running away from a predator or attacking anything in particular – good thing because he didn’t think Effie would take kindly to one of her kittens being murdered by birds she already wasn’t very fond of. He was so focused on the pen he almost missed the flickering shadow at the corner of his eyes.

It was probably nothing more than a trick of the light, he told himself, straining his neck to peer further down the street, on the other side of the fence. The shadow moved again. It was too deliberate to be a random trick of light and Haymitch was suddenly very much more awake because in that direction, the street was empty except for the kids’ house.

He pressed his face against the glass and narrowed his eyes, wishing he had listened to Katniss when she had suggested he made an appointment to get glasses. He had thought it was a cat or another animal, he tensed when he recognized a human shape. A human shape that was making signs to someone else by waving what was unmistakably a gun.

And still, the geese were quacking and honking.

Haymitch’s blood ran cold. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants and passed on the first sweater that fell under his hand, shaking Effie awake and putting on his shoes at the same time. She curled up further with a moan and a grumpy threat to hurt him if he didn’t leave him alone. She was awake and it was the main thing, though, so he rummaged in the bedside table drawer for the knife he kept there. The handle was smooth, it fitted perfectly in his palm. He hated how familiar it felt. He took another one from a hidden cache under the bed and forced it in her hands. Her blue eyes were open but glassy.

“Wake up.” he snapped, grabbing her arm and hauling her upright. “We’ve got company.”

“Company?” she repeated.

He didn’t have time for that. The kids might be in danger. They might already be…

“Did you lock the doors?” he asked. She shook her head no and his fingers clenched around the handle of his knife. “ _Fuck_. Can’t you do a single thing right?”

“I was otherwise engaged.” she snapped in a furious whisper.

And, to be fair, he had been too but now it could mean their death.

“Stay behind me.” he ordered, when she was done putting on borrowed pants and a shirt. She looked lost and small in his clothes.

He checked the house but aside for sleepy kittens in various room, they were alone and there was no signs of forced entry.

“I need to go help the kids.” he told her. “You lock behind me and you call Plutarch, alright?”

Her eyes were wide and frightened as she grabbed his arm. “Don’t be ridiculous, you will get yourself killed.”

He didn’t have time to argue with her flawless logic. “If anyone tries to come in, you stab. Go for the neck. Right here.” He pointed at a spot on her throat. “From above, as hard as you can. You will only get one chance, got it?”

She nodded and he pretended he couldn’t see the tears building up in her eyes. He didn’t lose anytime in last kisses – that would only jinx them anyway – he slipped out the door and hid in the shadows. He was careful to stay out of sight but the men advancing toward the house weren’t that cautious – either they thought they were invincible or they were prepared to die for their mission. He counted three of them. One took the front door, one headed for the back door and the third one lied on his belly, low in the bushes, ready to ambush whoever would step out of the house.

He wondered if the other two were just decoy to get the kids out.

He followed the one aiming for the kitchen and sneaked up behind him once the guy was done picking up the lock. The man was wearing heavy combat gear but no protective helmet like the Peacekeepers and Panem’s special units now did.

Haymitch didn’t think.

He didn’t overanalyze his feelings.

He didn’t linger on other possibilities that might have been cleaner and less definitive but that also could have alerted the two other men to his presence.

The kids were in danger.

And he would _never_ let _anyone_ hurt _his_ kids again.

The blade of the knife glided once in the moonlight but Haymitch’s movements were swift, even after all those years. Once a victor, always a victor. The guy didn’t even see him coming.

He slit the man’s throat and pushed the still warm body aside, forcing himself not to contemplate how sticky his hands were and why that was. He picked up the gun and took a deep breath, pushing the flashbacks from the arena at the back of his mind. They would need to repaint the walls.

The kitchen was dark and silent. He spent enough time in that house to know it like his own, he could navigate around furniture without bumping in any. The upper floor of the house was silent and so was the front door. It was still closed and there was so sign of tempering. Either the man was waiting for his accomplice to open it from inside or the plan wasn’t what Haymitch thought.

He took the stairs three at a time, his heart racing in his chest and adrenaline pumping through his veins, and rushed to the kids’ room. Peeta was the closest to him and also the less likely to attack him if abruptly awaken so Haymitch shook his shoulder. The boy jerked upright, a hand coiling around Haymitch’s wrist, the other one lifting and then dropping as if he had been contemplating a right hook.

“Hay… Haymitch?” Peeta stammered, drowsy from sleep.

“There’s a corpse on your back door and two others waiting to be eliminated.” he explained in a whisper, grabbing the boy’s pillow and flinging it at Katniss. The girl barely flinched. “ _Katniss_.” He hit her again and she finally sat up but only to glare at him. “Where’s your bow?” he asked her.

She stared at him for a second and then lied back down before putting the pillow over her head to muffle the noise, all the while muttering about meddling old men.

“She’s drunk.” Peeta said. “Jo and Annie were too…”

“ _Awesome_.” he spat, thrusting the gun at the boy. “Remember how to use this?”

Peeta nodded and climbed out of bed. “Where’s Effie?”

“I left her in the house.” Haymitch explained, taking hold of the blankets and tossing them off the bed. Katniss curled up with a whine. “Come on, sweetheart, we don’t have time for you to be difficult. You will be drunk later.”

_He_ would be drunk later. For days.

Katniss wasn’t cooperative and his half-cooked plan to put her bow in her hands and let her work her magic went down the drain.

“We need to get her out of the house.” he told Peeta. “Over to mine if possible.”

He didn’t like the thought of Effie alone one bit. They would be easier to protect if they were both in one place.

Peeta nodded, obviously decided to follow his lead like he used to follow Katniss. It was like being in the arena with Maysilee all over again and Haymitch hated it. The girl could barely stand on her feet, she had to lean against the wall but Peeta’s hurried whispers in her ear were enough, Haymitch thought, for her to at least have a grasp on the situation.

Haymitch took point and Peeta wordlessly took the rear, keeping Katniss in the middle. The entire house was silent. He couldn’t even hear the faint honking of geese anymore. _Too silent_. His nerves were frayed but his fingers were strangely steady on the handle of the knife.

They managed to get down the stairs without any problem or unpleasant encounter but Haymitch froze once they were at the bottom.

He felt the shifting of air before he heard the clicking.

“Down!” he yelled, throwing himself on Katniss.

There was an unpleasant bang when her head hit the stair but she let out a pained groan so he supposed she wasn’t dead. A second later he heard the answering firing from Peeta’s gun and the man hiding in the kitchen went down.

The boy didn’t seem to care about that. He pushed Haymitch aside and pulled Katniss into him.

“Are you alright?” Peeta asked, running frantic hands on her head and torso, looking for a wound that wasn’t there. She nodded silently, clinging to him, eyes wide with fear.

Not so drunk anymore, Haymitch figured.

“I’m fine too, thank for asking.” he grumbled. “There was a third one. Give me the gun.”

“I can do it.” Peeta replied firmly. The kiss he pressed against Katniss’ forehead was enough explanations as to how far he would go for her. With a shrug, Haymitch granted the request and moved to the window, peering around the curtain as discreetly as he could just as the geese started honking with all their might again.

He didn’t know what the man had intended to do : sneak inside the house, perch himself on a tree to shoot them all…

Drunk or not, Johanna was stealthy and the man didn’t realize the danger before the axe was swinging down. He tried to avoid it but… It was gruesome.

“Jo got him.” he said simply, moving to the front door.

Johanna met them in the empty street, her eyes roaming over them all to make sure they were all in one piece.

“There were three.” she said.

“All dead.” Haymitch replied. “How did you…”

“’Seems like your _fucking_ birds are useful after all.” she spat.  

“ _Haymitch_!” Effie’s voice was panicked and he turned in alarm to see her running out of the house and to them. She paused next to him first, looking him over and running her hands over him much in the same fashion Peeta had done with Katniss. She froze when she saw the blood stains on his shirt but he shook his head.

“Not mine.” he said quietly. “I’m fine.”

Her eyes were too knowing for his tastes, she nodded and moved on to inspecting the children. Peeta was given a thorough examination but it was over Katniss she fussed the most.

“What happened?” Peeta asked. “I thought they got them all…”

“Obviously not.” Johanna snickered.

The geese had calmed down but they started quacking again and Haymitch barely had time to turn around. Everything else happened too quickly.

“ _Down_!” someone – Annie, his brain supplied – yelled from one of the houses’ window.

Johanna knocked into him from the side, bringing Peeta down with them. He saw Katniss frozen on the spot and Effie, stupid _brave_ Effie, instinctively shielding her with her body. By the time Johanna grabbed the gun from Peeta’s hands, it was too late.

Effie went down.

Air was knocked out of Haymitch’s lungs.

“No…” he breathed out, almost crawling to her in his haste. He heard Johanna take the shot, he heard the cry of pain a few feet away and then the begging for mercy Johanna didn’t listen to, he heard the second gunshot and the following silence, he heard everything but nothing registered. Effie had fallen sideways, the wound was on her back and there was already a puddle of blood under her. She was bleeding out fast. “No, no, no, no…” he denied, pressing his palm against the wound in a futile effort to stop the bleeding.

“Haymitch…” she tried but it came out as an awkward gurgle.

“Don’t speak.” he ordered, looking around helplessly. Katniss was on her ass, staring, completely frozen, Peeta knelt beside him but was clearly at a loss for what to do and Johanna…

“ _Fuck_.” Johanna spat. “ _Fuck_. What did I say about not dying, Trinket? What did I _fucking_ say?”

The young woman pushed him aside, bundling her sweater and pressing against the wound much more efficiently than he had done. He let her because he didn’t know what else to do. His hands were numb, his breath was short, his heart was breaking…

“I… I will call for help.” Peeta said, scrambling up to his feet and into the house.

“Stay awake! Don’t you dare die on me or I swear I will bring you back just to kill you myself.” Johanna roused Effie, with a small whack on her leg.

Effie’s eyelids fluttered open but it was a losing fight and Haymitch knew it.

“Don’t you _dare_ go anywhere without me.” he growled. “Sweetheart…”

Her fingers twitched and he clasped them between his hands. They were cold.

He should have kissed her goodbye after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the meaaaaanest cliffhanger ever, isn't it? One chapter left. What will happen? Let me know what you think ;)


	13. Chapter 13

The humming of the machines was loud and made her head throb long before she even opened her eyes.

“Effie?”

The voice was anxious and hands immediately clasped her right one, holding it with a certain firmness but not tight enough it would hurt. It was the only thing that _didn’t_ hurt. It was probably a good thing she had grown accustomed to pain at some point, she mused, because her entire ribcage burned every time she took a breath.

Haymitch leaned over her, blocking her whole sight before she could try to figure out where she was and what had happened. His eyes were so grey…

They weren’t the only grey thing. The ceiling, the walls…

She heard the heart monitor starting to beep in a frenzy when she finally figured out where she was and why it was so familiar.

“Everything’s okay, sweetheart.” Haymitch promised, glancing at the machine. “I’m right here, yeah? And you’re not dead, that’s always a plus.”

She blinked, everything felt sluggish : her eyelids, her mind, her body…

“Why…” she croaked, her voice rough with obvious disuse.

“You got shot. Thirteen was the closest place with an advanced medical center.” he said, keeping hold on her fingers with one hand and stroking her hair with the other. “That bullet grazed your spine. They were concerned about that for a while.”

Her first reflex was to move her feet and she was relieved to see them wriggle under the blankets.

“That was even more _stupid_ than jumping in front of a car.” he growled.

For the first time, she realized how bad he looked. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes bloodshot, his fingers were quivering… She figured, rebellion or not, Thirteen still conserved his prohibition act.

“How long…” she rasped out.

“You’ve been in a medically induced coma for two weeks.” he said simply. “They’ve been decreasing the meds. I’ve been waiting for days for you to wake up. You’ve got no right to call me lazy anymore.” The hand in her hair stilled and he took a shaky breath. “You scared me to death.”

He had thought he had lost her again, she understood.

“You shouldn’t have been scared.” she slurred. “I’m staying, remember?”

“You never got around to actually _say_ that.” he snorted.

“’Thought it was obvious.” she mumbled, her eyes closing without her consent. Her whole body felt treacherous.

She woke up several times in the following hours and Haymitch was always there, either impatiently waiting for her to emerge from her medical slumber or annoying the nurses and doctor who wanted to shoo him out of the room. She heard one of the nurses muttering that nothing short of a liquor shipment would make him move. Effie wasn’t so sure even that would have been enough.

“The cats?” she asked at some point, still pretty out of it.

“Peeta’s taking care of them.” he said.

Which reminded her… “The children?”

“They will just _love_ you asked for them _after_ you asked for the cats.” he snickered. “They’re both fine. Jo and Annie stayed in Twelve to keep an eye on them.” There was a small silence and then he sighed. “I kind of punched Plutarch.”

She frowned. “What?”

She wished the drugs would leave her system so she could think more clearly but, at the same time, the drugs were keeping the pain at bay and that was the best she could hope for right at that second. The doctor had said he was pleased with her recovery and that the medical coma had been beneficial. They were so optimistic, they thought she might be allowed to leave the following week provided there weren’t any more complications.

“That government of his sucks.” Haymitch grumbled. “He said they got them all and I trusted him. _Fucking_ mistake, sweetheart, won’t make it twice. I’m not letting you out of my sight either. You try to die on me when I do that.”

It was a promise he was determined to keep.

Each time Effie woke up he was there. They had assigned him a room somewhere in Thirteen but she would bet he hadn’t even put a foot there. He remained glued to the chair next to her bed and visibly withered away. One of the doctors had to threaten him to hook him to a drip if he didn’t start eating more. He was in withdrawal again, had been for some time now, but he was brushing aside any offer for help. He barely slept, his eyes sometimes went out of focus for the longest time, other times he flinched at random, his eyes trailed inexistent ghosts that his mind was conjuring, he got angry out of nowhere, threatened people… He never left Effie. Not once.

By the time they moved her out of intensive care to a private room, he was very much sober, dried of alcohol, and in a perpetual awful mood. He snapped at everyone and was so sarcastic, nobody could get a serious answer out of him. Effie wasn’t an exception, he wasn’t nicer with her than with anyone else but he was protective. Too much sometimes. She was afraid he would try to murder people every time a nurse or a doctor accidentally hurt her while conducting their examination.

He hated Thirteen with a passion that she shared.

She had been there for a day or two after her rescue from prison, before she was shipped back to the Capitol, and her memories of that time were vague but it was enough to know nobody in that place had cared one bit if the escort died or stayed alive. They had done only the strict minimum for her and they hadn’t wasted any painkillers.

She couldn’t say which one of them was more relieved when the doctor declared she was finally free to go home. There was no question as to where that was.

They arrived in Twelve on a cold winter morning.

She had barely stepped out of the hovercraft that her arms were already full of Katniss and Peeta. She hugged them both for dear life, not even caring about the slight tinge of pain it caused. Annie hugged her too, chiding her gently about worrying everyone. Johanna sneered at her and declared she was _a fucking moron_ which Effie chose to take as a sign of affection.

The kittens scattered away when they entered the house and hid, not used to their presence anymore. She barely got a glimpse of Silk’s brushy tail. Haymitch tried not to make it obvious but she saw him creeping closer to the cupboard step by step. His howl of rage when he saw the empty bottles could probably be heard three houses down.

“I’m going to _kill_ that boy.” he spat, his hand already on the back door handle.

“Can you yell at Peeta after you help me to the bedroom?” she asked, not fazed by his anger. “I’m feeling a bit faint.”

His furor disappeared at once in a guilty expression and he wrapped an arm around her waist, careful not to jostle her too much. He wasn’t exactly in the best of shape himself so actually reaching the bedroom was a bit difficult.

“I will get your stuff.” he said once she was sitting on his – _their_ – bed.

“Just give me one of your shirts.” she countered. None of her nightgowns would be enough against the cold anyway. One of the children had lighted a fire before they arrived but it was clear the house hadn’t been heated for some time. He helped her change despite her protests that she could manage by herself and he tucked her in. The sheets were clean, she made a note to thank the children. “Come to bed.” she requested, once she was safely tucked under the warm blankets.

He was shuffling from one foot to the other, torn between holding on to his promise to not let her out of his sight and his yearning for liquor. In the end, she won. He kicked off his shoes and climbed into bed with her.

He spooned her but so loosely and cautiously, she rolled her eyes.

“I’m not going to break, you know.” she sighed, tugging on his arm until he was almost wrapped around her.

“Who knows with you.” he grumbled, pressing a kiss against her neck. “You jump in front of cars, you jump in front of bullets…” He snorted. “I’m going to keep you locked in this room from now on, sweetheart.”

“And what will you do with me?” she grinned, turning her head to look at him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” he smirked.

He complied with the unspoken plea for a kiss but they were careful to keep it chaste enough. She wasn’t up for much yet and frustration wasn’t something either of them dealt well with.

She dozed off, only waking up when she felt the mattress sunk very slightly at the foot of the bed. Haymitch was snoring against her neck, properly asleep for the first time in weeks probably. She wasn’t surprised when she saw Vodka climbing their legs and standing there like a conquering emperor on top of a mountain, its little nose sniffing around. She moved as if to scratch its head but it avoided her hand until she handed it for inspection. Once the kitten was sure she was who she appeared to be, he went to investigate Haymitch and when it was satisfied with his identity, it settled above their heads on the pillow and started purring.

She wasn’t overly surprised when the cats started to invade the bedroom one by one, each one submitting them to a sniffing inspection. When she finally fell asleep, absent-mindedly petting Mahogany, she and Haymitch were lost in a sea of sleeping kittens.

She felt good.

At peace.

She hadn’t been herself when she had arrived in Twelve over a month earlier but, to be fair, she hadn’t been herself since the second Quarter Quell.

She felt like herself now. Her old self.

Haymitch drew her closer to him in his sleep, mumbling her name in his dreams.

Better than herself, she mused, she felt _complete_.

**_ The End _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sad to see this story go! I hoped you enjoyed it, even with last week mean cliffy ;) Please let me know what you think of this last chapter and don't miss next week new story! I will give you a hint, it's an AU and it takes place at sea.

**Author's Note:**

> Loved it ? Hated it ? Please drop me a comment to let me know ! Feedbacks make my day.


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